


Horizons of Sky & Stone

by justcallmecappy



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe, Brothers, F/M, Friendship, multi-chaptered, star-crossed lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-04-08 16:11:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 29,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4311783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justcallmecappy/pseuds/justcallmecappy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dragon Smaug has been defeated and the battle to reclaim the Mountain has been won, and King Thorin has claimed his rightful throne. As the dust of battle clears, a fragile and growing love blossoms between Kili, Erebor's youngest prince, and Tauriel, the emissary between the Erebor and the Woodland Realm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

The nighttime air was cool against her cheek as she rode through the twilight, the last rays of evening disappearing behind the distant foothills. 

In front of her, the Lonely Mountain loomed, lit by the last few rays of dying light. For a day and a half she had rode tirelessly from the Woodland Realm towards the mountain, making as few stops as possible, and as it drew closer and clearer against the horizon her heart began to race; her fingers turning numb with excitement. 

Now it stood so close; so close! She could already see how the flickering torches cast velvety shadows and dancing gold light upon the stone statues by the gate, and she urged her horse to ride on, faster.

* * *

He sat by the window, contemplating the light of the summer moon as it hung low and dusky in the sky.

It was the only light that entered the room; the corners of the echoing chamber farthest from the window were shrouded in darkness. Servants had come in not long ago, offering to light the braziers and candles, but he had sent them away.

"Just a little longer," he asked, and they left, curious at their lord's behaviour. As darkness descended and the moon rose, Kili's eyes searched the inky night skies for a trace of the stars. But tonight they hid behind a thin layer of cloud, their glimmer muted and soft.

He sighed, a dull pain settling in his chest. The light of the stars always reminded him of her; and when she was far away in her woodland home, he'd watch the stars dance across the night sky and miss her. But tonight the stars were hidden; they were just as far away as she was, and he wondered with an aching longing when he would be able to see her again.

It had been a year since Erebor was reclaimed. The dusts of battle had settled, and once the dead were buried and mourned, they had begun to rebuild. The people of Lake-town settled in Dale, restoring the ruined buildings, raising farms, and even resuming trade. Dwarves from the Iron Hills had come to Erebor to help rebuild their long-abandoned kingdom -- at first in small, trickling groups, but now their folk as far as the Blue Mountains arrived in droves, bringing with them tools and goods and much-needed resources. They had begun to work in the mines and forges, and once more the halls were filled with song and voices and golden light -- as if they had never left.

And Tauriel had returned to the Greenwood, where her King Thranduil had lifted her banishment and reinstated her post as Captain of the Guard. But, curiously, she had been given a new responsibility: emissary between the Kingdom of Erebor and the Woodland Realm, and had since visited twice on official errand to deliver messages and news. It had been half a year since her last visit, and Kili was beginning to wonder if King Thranduil felt the role no longer suited her.

There was a knock at his door. He gave permission to enter, and a guardsman stood in the doorway, bowing respectfully.

"My lord," the guardsman said. "A guest for you approaches."

Kili recognized at once that this was one of the watchmen who stood guard over the main gates of Erebor. And from the tone of the guard's voice, and the fashion the message was delivered, made him realize instantly who this particular guest was. It was no secret in Erebor that their Prince Kili particularly favoured the Elven emissary, and everyone -- from the King's high council members to the lowliest kitchen-hand -- knew that when she arrived, Kili would be the first person who wanted to know.

He leapt from the window ledge. "Thank you," he said, barely able to conceal his excitement; "Thank you!" and he flew from the room running.

* * *

 

The watchmen by the gates heard her horse approaching, recognized its rider. They lowered the drawbridge. As it slowly descended, Tauriel's heart was beating so wildly in her chest it felt as if it had grown wings.

She surged forward as she approached, never slowing, and even before the lip of the bridge touched ground she and her horse leapt into the yawning cavern of an entrance, galloping until she was flanked by the towering pillars and echoing golden halls of Erebor.

A familiar figure came running from the end of the hall. She let out a breathless gasp, his name already on her lips, and reined her horse to a stop. She dismounted in a single, fluid movement, her feet in flying in leaps as they touched the ground. 

"Tauriel!" he called, and she rushed forward to embrace him. She'd fallen to her knees, and he was laughing as he caught her. 

He smelt of sunshine and deep summer, of hay and fine wine and old leather. She missed this smell, so much. Her fingers dug into the furs of his fine cape as she leaned into him, and soon tears pricked at her eyes.

"Tauriel?" he said again, this time softer, more tenderly. He drew back and looked into her face; and she hurriedly brushed away her tears. 

"I'm sorry," she murmured, smiling apologetically. "I have traveled so long to get here. I hardly stopped to rest; I was so impatient."

"I would have told you to rest in Dale for the night, and just come in the morning," Kili replied, unable to stop smiling. "But I'm happy you're here now. I wanted to see you again, so badly."

Tauriel looked up to meet his eyes. There were subtle changes since her last visit: His hair was longer and more elegantly groomed, held back neatly by a gold circlet that proclaimed his title as a Dwarven prince. His clothes were finer. His beard looked thicker, though it wasn't nearly as majestic as that of his brethren.

But he still looked at her with that familiar, fierce tenderness; that same boyish smile tugging at the corners of his lips; the gentleness of his voice that both excited and calmed her. She reached out and touched his face, feeling the roughness of his bearded cheek against her hand. 

He turned his face to lightly kiss the inside of her palm. "I missed you," he said, quietly.

Tauriel nodded. "I missed you too, Kili."

 


	2. 2

Her horse had been watered and stabled, and Tauriel herself was led to her lodging quarters by a pair of Dwarven chambermaids, and served a light supper. She was restless all throughout her meal and ate quickly, and her bath was equally rushed, serving just to wash off the dust and tiredness of her journey. Refreshed, she reached for the door, determined to ambush whatever guard or serving-maid that had been posted outside, and demand to be taken _immediately_ to the Dwarven Prince ...

... only to find him standing alone by the door as it swung open.

He had been leaning boredly against the wall but now leapt to immediate attention, looking embarrassed. Tauriel wanted to laugh, but she felt slightly abashed herself that the Prince of Erebor had waited by the door for her like a common guardsman. But Kili didn't look at all self-conscious; things like titles hardly ever bothered him.

"Take a stroll with me," he invited, holding a hand out to her. 

They walked down together through the halls of Erebor, talking about their lives since they last met, half a year ago - Kili's new responsibilities as a Prince, restoring the proud Dwarven kingdom to its former glory; and Tauriel's news from the court of King Thranduil.

Tauriel playfully reprimanded him. "It's not becoming for a Prince to wait by his guest's door like a common bodyguard."

"Well," he replied, "I served as a bodyguard once. When my people still didn't have our home, and we wandered the land as mercenaries, taking jobs where we could." He paused, remembering. "It actually paid quite well."

Tauriel smiled, entwining her fingers in his a little tighter. "You are a Prince now, Kili, and heir to the greatest treasury of the realm. But I am still Captain of the Royal Guard. Which means it is  _me_ who should be protecting  _you_."

He looked at her then; and when she met his eyes, she quickly lowered her gaze again. She was always caught off-guard at how the way he looked at her -- with such reverence, such adoration -- could so easily disarm her, and turn her steely resolve into shyness. "You saved my life, once," he murmured quietly, his voice heavy with memory. "I will never tire of being protected by you."  


* * *

They passed the great feasting hall where another magnificent dinner was winding down. Snatches of songs and drunken brawls and the clanging of ale tankards drifted through the yawning halls, which were now lit with the soft golden light of a thousand torches. Soon those sounds faded the further they walked deeper into the mountain, and there was only silence save the padding of their footsteps and the whistling of torch-flames.

Even though she had walked these halls before, Tauriel still marveled at how everything towered above her; how even the light of the torches couldn't reach the tops of the pillars as they disappeared high into the gloom. She stared at the labyrinthine corridors, wondering how would anyone be able to navigate these halls without getting lost, when Kili's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Will you be wanting an audience with my Uncle tonight?" he asked, delicately. "Are the messages from Lord Thranduil so urgent that they cannot wait til morning?"

Tauriel smiled. "Not so urgent," she said. "The matters of Kings can wait til tomorrow's first audience. Tonight, I would rather spend time with Erebor's Prince."

He smiled, and took her hands her hands in his and was leading her forward. "Come with me," he said excitedly, his face lighting up with a happiness as open and guileless as a child's. "There is something I want to show you."

It was nighttime and everywhere was quiet, the forges and mines had ceased their noise of clanging hammers and roaring fires for the day. He led her down the winding corridors and countless flights of stairs; his infectious excitement causing them both to laugh as they raced through the echoing halls, trying in vain to keep the sanctity of the silence intact.

They passed through a dark passageway, where all was hushed -- but the narrow walls and shadows soon gave way to red-gold firelight and open caverns, and soon they stood before a magnificent forge -- this was where the Dwarves' most skilled blacksmiths fashioned weapons and jewelry, and ceremonial, gilded cups and plates for the King's finest banquets. The forge was dark and quiet for the night, but the light of stray torches cast a flickering light onto the towering cavern walls and massive iron-works.

Elves lived a long time -- longer than any Man or Dwarf -- but in all her years, Tauriel had never seen such a space of such overwhelming size and power. Not even the cavernous, gilded court of her Lord Thranduil could compare to the majesty of the Dwarven forges. There sat unlit kilns the size of small hills, huge vats that stood sleeping with bellies full of unmelted gold, and massive bellows that looked like they could cause small hurricanes. Tauriel stood still for awhile; taking in the grandeur of the place, and only moved when Kili led her down the flight of steps, into the echoing chamber.

She followed him into a smaller, adjoining room. Lanterns that were lit for the night cast a pale light onto rows of low desks and chairs, scales overflowing with glittering gems, and delicate tools that Tauriel recognized were used to ornament fine weapons. Here and there sat unfinished jewelry, daggers, and goblets of the finest Dwarven craftsmanship; Tauriel picked up an iron throwing knife with a dazzling golden hilt and studied it, testing its weight and admiring the finishing.

"Tauriel."

She turned towards Kili. He'd brought out an item wrapped in leather, bound with golden twine. She came to him and took the gift as it was presented to her, looking at him with a questioning look.

"This," Kili said, with ceremony, "is my gift to you."

She unwrapped the leather, slowly uncovering a fine Dwarvish blade of shimmering silver, inlaid with white gems and tendrils of gold. Tauriel was fascinated as she admired the beauty of it, and realized, with pleasant surprise, Elvish elements in its design -- delicate, glasslike leaves and vines that wrapped around the hilt; and a sleekness would have made it an elegant throwing knife as compared to a more traditional, sturdy Dwarvish design.

She looked again to Kili, who was smiling. "Do you like it?" he asked.

"I ..." she began, but then faltered. She was at loss for words. This was no ordinary Dwarvish dagger, no -- it was obvious that Kili had it fashioned especially for her. It glittered strangely in the light, and seem to sing with a fine, white voice, and -- with a gasp, Tauriel realized the blade was crafted from pure _mithril_ \-- the most precious metal in all the Kingdoms.

"This ..." she began, breathless.

" _Mithril_ ," Kili said proudly. "Yes. It can be tempered like copper, but it shines like glass, and will not dull like a silver blade will. Look -- isn't it beautiful in the firelight?"

Tauriel felt overwhelmed -- she knew this was too fine and too precious a gift for a lowly Elven guard as herself. She smiled up at Kili with pained eyes.

"My love," she said, "it pains me that you should give me such beautiful things. I am neither an Elven princess or Lady; I am merely an emissary, here to deliver messages between the two Kingdoms, nothing more. A mere messenger cannot accept such fine things."

Kili looked sad, but his expression lost none of its tenderness. "You may not be a princess, but I am a Dwarven prince, and no gem or metal in this earth is too precious for me to give to you.”

Before Tauriel could protest, he continued. “And you are mistaken -- you are more than just a mere messenger to me. You are the Lady who holds my heart, and all of my love. And if I could give you all the stars in the sky or harness the moon and bring it to your window, I would. This is but a poor substitute for all the beauty of the world I wish I could to give you."

Tauriel couldn't meet his eyes, then -- she faltered between joy and despair, and tried to turn away, but Kili took her hand and said, quietly, "Tauriel, my love, my life. All I wanted was to see you happy. If you do not want my gift, just say the word. All the beauty of the world is meaningless to me if your happiness is not part of it."

She laughed then. "Oh, such pretty words!" she said. "My Lord Kili. How many poor Elven maidens' hearts will you charm with those silvery words of yours?"

He smiled. The touch of his fingers suddenly felt like flames in her hands. "I am only interested in one Elven maiden's heart," he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "And if I cannot charm her, my words will serve no purpose."

She stared straight into his eyes. They were dark, so dark -- like a deep, nighttime sky, but were glistening as if they were lit by stars, and she felt the air around her became heady, as if she had drunk too much wine or danced for far too long. In all her years, she had never felt this way before -- this intense vulnerability, this defenselessness against the whisper of his voice.

She knew she was in love, then. She knew it long before, she knew it now -- and in each whorl of the dagger's design and in the glitter of each inlaid gem, she felt the weight of Kili's love for her. If she refused his gift, she would regret it forever.

"Your mother was right," she said, admitting defeat.

Kili laughed, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"You  _are_  reckless," she said, sheathing the dagger. "Very reckless."

_ I'd just have to find a way to keep it hidden from my Lord Thranduil, _  Tauriel thought, but for now she'd accept it proudly like a Lady for her Dwarven prince.


	3. 3

It was the morning audience in the Court of Erebor, and King Thorin sat in his throne, the Arkenstone gleaming like a beacon above him.

All around, the throne room was hushed as all manners of concerns were laid before the new King. Standing beside Thorin, on his immediate right was Balin, now his right-hand advisor, who held a scroll and wore worried look on his face as the morning drew on. On Thorin's left were Fili And Kili - next in line to the Throne of Erebor, observing the ways of governance as a form of preparation for their eventual ascension to the throne.

Next to them was Dwalin, Captain of the King's Guard, and to Balin's right was Ori, secretary of the court. Ori was the only one besides Thorin who was seated, and had a great book upon a desk before him, as well as a quill and an inkpot. He was jotting down notes of the audience as it progressed.

The morning grew late as Dwarves and the occasional merchant from Dale put forth their matters -  _not enough limestone to finish the repairs in the southern quarters, milord, shall we open another quarry? Trade in leather has been profitable; perhaps we shall open a new trade route for furs?_ \- until eventually, it came to the Elven emissary's turn.

Thorin watched closely as she strode to stand before the Throne, and his gaze instinctively flicked to his youngest nephew. He immediately felt his guard rising when he saw the openness of Kili’s smile as she approached; but when he looked back at the emissary she maintained her cool gaze on the Throne, her neutral expression betraying none of her emotions.

Thorin couldn't trust Elves, not really. They were a dangerous and wily folk; and he hated the sound of their foreign tongue, and the way they seemed to stare from a lofty perch, assuming themselves better than others.

But this red-haired one; something was quite different about her. She wasn't like Thranduil, or the rest of her kin. When she spoke, she would meet others' gazes with the clear, curious eyes of someone who tried to understand the world around her.

Thorin wondered if his nephew had anything to do with that.

"My lord Thorin, son Thrain, King Under the Mountain," she said, her voice ringing out through the throne room. "I am Tauriel, come from the Court of King Thranduil."

Thorin waved his hand for her to continue. "What news from the Woodland Realm?"

Tauriel bit her lip, and Thorin knew he wasn't going to be happy to hear this message.

"My lord King Thranduil sends his sincerest greetings in his absence,” she said. “I had been sent ahead, to give word that my lord and his retinue will ride here upon the half-moon, to acknowledge the new King of Erebor."

Thorin raised an eyebrow, already feeling a weight descend on his shoulders. "Thranduil wants to visit Erebor," he said, a cold dread settling in his stomach.  _Oh perfect, more Elves._

Tauriel nodded, resigned. "I will ride out to meet my lord upon midday, and escort him here. We will arrive two days hence."

Thorin sighed, and turned to whisper to Balin. "I know why the Elf-King rides here," he said, softly enough so that the others wouldn't hear.

"Yes," Balin said with a worried nod. "Elven blood was spilled to defend these lands. It has been almost a year since the great Battle, and now King Thranduil is finally seeking his compensation."

It was a visit Thorin wasn't looking forward to, but he knew it was something he had to endure. He was King of Erebor, now. And there was unfinished business that he would have to address with the Woodland Realm.

"Make preparations for the Elven company," he commanded to the court. "Food, lodging, and stabling for their horses." As servants bustled to heed his orders, Balin proclaimed to the hall, "And so concludes the morning audience!" and the court immediately adjourned.

Thorin turned towards Fili and Kili. He spoke low: "You both. Come with me."

* * *

 

Kili watched helplessly as Tauriel strode out of the throne room, remembering what she had said:  _"I will ride out to meet my lord upon midday."_  The morning was already late - the sun approached its peak and he worried he wouldn’t be able to see her before she left.

His eyes followed the copper-red of her hair as she disappeared among the throng of greys and blues of the crowd exiting the hall. But there was a bright flash of movement as she turned her head to glance at him, the brilliance of her eyes striking like lightning as they met his - and he saw her mouth the words,  _"Come meet me,"_ before she was gone.

Thorin called over his shoulder, "Come, all of you; there is much we need to discuss.” They followed him as he stepped down from the Throne’s dias, and Kili watched curiously as Fili took a servant aside to whisper something, before the servant bowed and left.

“What was that about?” Kili asked.

“Just making preparations,” was Fili’s reply, and he said nothing more.

They went into a smaller, adjoining antechamber, where there sat a round table and a few low chairs. A flurry of servants came in to serve them heavy silver flagons of ale, and after they bustled out of the room, Thorin immediately declared, "We are about to be plagued by Elves."

Kili ignored his Uncle's dark expression and merely stared quietly at his boots.

Thorin continued. "They will demand great compensation for their role in the Battle. I am sure Thranduil is after the white gems of the mountain, among other things. He will exaggerate his people's sacrifice in the war. I will not bleed our people dry when we are still rebuilding our home; not when every resource is precious."

He stared out at everyone at the table. "I will need you - all of you - for your counsel."

This was followed by back-and-forth conversations between Dwalin, Balin and Thorin, who speculated and bargained over carts of gold and chests of silver to offer the Elven host, should they demand compensation for their role in the Battle. Fili would occasionally nod as he listened; but both he and his brother remained silent throughout the meeting. Kili would fidget and throw nervous glances at the door, wondering how much time had passed.

After a while, Dwalin took a swig of ale, seeming defeated. "As if they are not rich enough," he said. "Why do I feel we are always being repressed by Elves, whether we have a Kingdom or not?"

Balin spoke. "It's too early to say what they will ask for sure; But if it should come down to our offer, maybe a set of silver cups or a chest of our finest emeralds would placate the Elven King?"

But when Fili spoke, it surprised Kili: "Give them what they want."

There was a silence as everyone regarded Fili's words, and stared at him.

"They will be satisfied, and they will leave. And our debt will be repaid."

Thorin turned to him, speaking gravely. "And is that your decision, as my heir and successor?"

Fili steadily met his Uncle's gaze. "When I lay dying upon Ravenhill, I thought that would be my last day," he said, quietly. "I came very, very near death, Uncle. I would even say I crossed that veil between the living and the dead; but the first thing I saw when I was brought back was an Elven healer together with Oin, reviving me with both their Elvish magic and our Dwarven medicine.”

There was a silence as he let his words sink in. Kili remembered that day – he was sure Thorin remembered it as well. They had almost died there, in the snow and ruins of Ravenhill – but by some miracle, Thranduil did not turn his forces away, and in an alliance that surprised them all, Elves and Dwarves had worked together to save the sons of Durin.

“We are alive today because they chose to save us,” Fili reminded them. “The line of Durin endures because they chose not to leave, when they could have."

Thorin narrowed his eyes – but instead of looking angry, he seemed more wary, like a wolf pacing the mouth of a cave. "They would have had their own reasons to stay after the battle," Thorin said in a low voice. "To staunch the Orc threat before it reached their borders, or what other hidden interests they may have."

"Do you really think they're all like that?"

Everyone turned to Kili, now that chose to speak. He returned their surprised gazes in turn with a challenging look – but when he met his brother's eyes he smiled slightly, and Fili gave a knowing nod in reply.

"No, not all Elves," Fili said, encouragingly. "At least, not your Tauriel."

And Kili's smile grew broader.

"Enough," Thorin said impatiently, planting both fists into the table. "You've both said your piece. You may go. I will continue this discussion with the rest."

Fili and Kili filed out of the room, and Thorin watched them leave with a sober look in his eyes. His nephews were so very, very young, but he knew they were no fools. He had a lot to think about.

"Um, should I put that last bit in?" Ori said nervously, his quill hovering over his last sentence in his great book. This was met with slight headshake from Balin, who then looked worriedly at his King, who was now silent, deep in thought.

* * *

 

"I do believe that is the first time I've heard you call her by her name," Kili said, pleased. They walked rapidly down the stone throne room, towards the Hall of Kings.

"Well yes, I couldn't be calling her, 'the Elven emissary', or 'that red-haired She-Elf' forever," Fili replied. "And speaking of which, you might need to hurry if you're going to catch her before she leaves."

And a look of panic overcame Kili's face, but just as he was about to launch himself into a run, Fili grabbed his arm and added, "And just in case you're too late, there is a pony saddled and waiting for you near the Gates, if you need to catch up to her."

Kili looked at his brother in a mixture of wonderment and awe. “How--?” he began, but remembered his brother speaking to the servant before the meeting.

"Thank you brother," he said, his heart filling with gratitude. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

Fili merely pushed his brother's shoulder forward. "Go," he said, with a wry grin. "You are still my little brother, Kili, and I would still stand by you and your choices. No matter how stupid I think they are.”

Kili drew his brother into a swift hug, before sprinting down the hall.

And Fili watched as his brother's figure grew smaller as he ran furiously through shafts of sunlight streaming through the windows, and sighed wistfully, thinking – quite mistakenly – that he had prepared himself for this moment, but he wasn't nearly prepared enough.

* * *

 

Tauriel waited by the great gates. Her horse had already been saddled, and it nickered impatiently as it smelt the grass and the air, eager to start riding.

But Tauriel lingered. She knew she couldn't wait any longer, that she should be heading immediately to her King's side – and yet, she stared longingly into the gloomy depths of the hall, her eyes straining against the darkness for the faintest silhouette of a figure to come running to her.

A Dwarven guard came up to her, and politely cleared his throat. "Will you be needing anything else for your journey, milady?"

She lowered her gaze and bit her lip, nervously thumbing the reins of her horse. There were enough rations to last a week, more than enough for her day's journey. Her quiver lay full on unused arrows; her water-skin filled.

"No, thank you," she murmured regretfully. With one last look down the hall, she mounted her horse, and began a slow canter down the bridge leading out of Erebor.

 _I will be back in a few days_ , she thought, trying to comfort herself as a strange sort of hurt gripped her chest.

She gazed out into the world before her – bright, blue open skies, plains of grass whispering in the breeze; the city of Dale shining like a jewel in the distance, with its colourful banners and honey-coloured towers … but no matter how beautifully the world stretched out before her, the only thing she wanted to see before she left Erebor was a familiar face smiling back at her; and a pair of bright eyes, dark as night.

But sun had already passed its peak, and already Tauriel could feel the call of her King beckoning. She urged her horse into a swift gallop as she fought against the strain in her chest.

It was then she heard it. Faint at first, but then her ears caught the sound of her name called out loud, carried on the breeze.

She turned back. She saw Kili emerge from behind the gates, bursting into the brilliant sunlight, astride a galloping white pony. He looked quite glorious, riding at full speed, his cape of furs and his wild hair flying behind him.

Tauriel's breath caught in her throat.  She swiftly turned around and rode towards him. There were a dozen desperate, anxious words playing on the tip of her tongue, but as the space closed between them she forgot every single one; she was so relieved to see him.

"My lady Tauriel," Kili said, smiling. The sight of him – with his wind-tousled hair, and the brightness in his eyes and colour in his cheeks from the ride – made the strain in Tauriel’s heart all the more harder to bear. "I couldn't let you leave without saying goodbye."

"I would have waited longer," she replied. "But you took so long."

He laughed. "I'm sorry – I would've come sooner, if I could. You know I wouldn't willingly spend a second away from you." And it was true.

Tauriel lowered her gaze, unable to meet his eyes. She wanted to linger; to make this moment stretch on forever. But with heaviness in her voice, she merely replied, "Will you wait for me?"

Kili nodded, and reached a hand to her. She touched the tips of his fingers, and again looked into his eyes.

" _Innikh dê_ ,"he said, so softly that Tauriel could barely hear it. She drew closer, lifted his hand and gently touched it against her cheek; and then she pulled away, feeling the space open up between them like a winter chill.

_Return to me._

She rode away, faster, faster, so that the winds would dry her tears.


	4. 3.5

_"You will not turn your back. Not this time."_

Thranduil would never forget how clearly her voice rang out; how she had stood, all fire and fury, the blaze of her presence isolated against the blinding-white of the snow. He had never felt so infuriated – and yet he felt strangely proud. She was young, so young, and foolish – but in her raw defiance she radiated strength.

He was reminded, suddenly, of a warrior-maiden he had left long ago in the past, whose beauty was only rivaled by her arrogance. Thranduil heard echoes of her in Tauriel's voice, in the way she stood, in the dangerous flash of her eyes.

"Get out of my way," Thranduil snarled. She was in direct defiance of her King, her treasonous arrow pointed towards his head – he had every right to strike her head from her shoulders, then.

But just as his blade whistled through the air, aiming to disarm her, she lowered her bow.

He stopped his sword just in the nick of time – the edge of the blade hovered mere inches away from Tauriel's pale cheek; and, shaken, Thranduil lowered his sword – he knew in that moment that he had never meant to strike her.

Tauriel’s gaze was lowered towards the earth. Her breathing was quick, as if she were afraid, but her eyes bright with tears as she looked up: "I had thought you saw your life worth more than theirs," she said. "That you would have abandoned them to die, when they needed your help the most.

"I only saw through my anger – I saw no love in you."

Thranduil was silent, letting the coldness of her words settle and seep in, but still he listened.

A movement from the corner of his eye made him glance right – and his son Legolas stood there, glancing between him and Tauriel, concern knotting his brow.

Tauriel noticed his arrival, and seemed to draw strength from it.

"But I am wrong," she continued, her gaze on Legolas, but seeming to look past him. Her voice was soft as the falling snow. "My King – I cannot doubt that there is love in you, still.

“All these years you have sheltered me, and you have treated me well – but I was never meant to stay hidden in the dark. I am part of this world, and I am meant to seek out its light. And before you send me away, before I leave your side forever, please – for all the years I followed you –“ her voice quietened to no louder than a whisper, "for all the years you have loved me, _I beg you_ – Do not turn your back now. Do not abandon them again."

And then he remembered - the little girl-Elf, no higher than his knee, with hair and red as flame whom had broken from the crowd of mourners following the procession of soldiers fallen in war. She had clung to the hand of her dead father as his body was carried away, tears streaming down her face as she called, over and over,  _"Ada, Ada"_ _._  

He did not know what possessed him to turn around and pick that little Silvan girl from the crowd – but the years passed quickly like the falling of autumn leaves, and though Legolas was his only true child, he had grown used to having them both by his side, watching them grow up together, safe and within sight.

He didn’t think she would try to leave the home he had given her … or how much that absence actually mattered to him.

“What you feel for that Dwarf,” Thranduil continued, “are you prepared to die for it?”

The tears that rimmed Tauriel's eyes now rolled down her cheeks – and Thranduil knew the answer before she gave it.

He turned to his lieutenant. “Dispatch our swiftest archers to Ravenhill. We will see to it that Azog is cut down this day, before that Gundabad scum can stretch its vile reach into our lands.

“And,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “Send for our most skilled healers. I suspect we will need them very soon.”


	5. 4

The moon was high in the sky when Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm marched from his halls towards the Dwarven Kingdom of Erebor. He turned his face heavenward, drifting in and out of distant memories as he admired the silvery, pearlescent light of the moon as it lit up the path before him.

A year and a half had passed since he had last stood beneath the shadow of the Lonely Mountain. Though he was content not to venture into the Dwarven lands too often, he had kept communication open between both Kingdoms in the form of his single, solitary emissary.

She was, at that moment, supposed to meet him at the Northern borders of the Mirkwood. But as the forest began to thin out and give way into the wide, grassy plains, there still was no sign of her.

“Tauriel is late,” he remarked to his son Legolas, who rode beside him. “She should have been here an hour ago.”

Legolas nodded, brow creased in worry. “This is most uncommon of her.”

Tauriel wasn’t usually late. She took no small pride in her ruthless efficiency in all her duties, particularly in her new post as emissary. As Thranduil wondered what could have caused her tardiness, a muffled cry from the back of the procession interrupted his thoughts.

There were sounds of commotion, and the flickering torchflames held aloft by the company began to dance around in scattered panic. Thranduil gave the command to halt.

He glanced at his son. “Go and see what that is,” he said, and Legolas rode back into the twilit gloom of the forest.

For a long while Legolas didn’t return; and as the shouts grew louder and the horses began to nicker nervously, hushed warnings began to carry on the breeze – subtle, sinister whispers of cobwebs and venom and dark things that skulked in deep shadows – and Thranduil knew exactly what threatened his company.

_“Spiders!”_ came panicked cries, as members of the procession came running forward to safety.

Thranduil drew his sword, and urged his steed back down towards the rear of the procession. He felt mild irritation growing at having his carefully-laid plans disturbed, and aimed to settle things as soon as possible.

Legolas was in the midst of combat when Thranduil arrived. “We seem to be under attack,” he remarked drily, driving an arrow right between the rows of a spider’s many eyes; then slicing a blade cleanly through the head of another.

Guards were kept busy from all fronts, holding off what seemed to be an entire nest of the giant spiders.

“Where is Tauriel?” Legolas asked as more spiders streamed from the depths of the forest, and Thranduil shook his head as he cut through the swarm, the silvery-white of his hair and robes like a blaze of liquid lightning against the darkness.

But then, in the heat of the moment, Tauriel appeared as if summoned.

She broke through the trees, nocking, drawing and loosing a rain of arrows upon the invading creatures – and at the sight of their Captain, the Elven guards began to rally.

She gave a swift series of commands. As the company of Guards fell into position, more and more spiders were slain and their numbers dwindled. The last few remaining ones began to retreat into the darkness of the forest, a host of the Elven guard in pursuit.

Over the mess of slain spiders, Tauriel met the eyes of her King – she could tell he wasn’t pleased.

“You’re late,” he said, by way of greeting.

Tauriel was just about to begin her apology, when she caught sight of a stray spider, dropping in on his head to attack.

She could only act in a split second. Without thinking, she reached for her closest weapon – a dagger – and flung it forward with deadly accuracy.

The dagger flew past Thranduil’s shoulder and pinned the spider into a tree behind him, its blade planted firmly through the middle of the creature’s head. It squirmed and gave a choking death rattle, before its entire body stiffened and slumped.

Tauriel stepped immediately to her King’s side.

But as she drew closer, she noticed, in growing alarm, the dagger that Thranduil now drew from the body of the dead creature.

The fine white blade sang with an exquisite silver shine, like a shard of starlight in the dark – it was Kili’s gift dagger. Tauriel had thrown it in a moment of pure instinct and unthinking; and her jaw clenched tensely as she watched Thranduil turning it over and over, studying it in his hands.

“ _Mithril_.” His voice betrayed no emotion. “Is this new?”

Tauriel couldn’t bring herself to answer at first. She struggled at a few replies – but as Thranduil handed the dagger back to her, there was a strange, faint smile on his lips.

“Keep it safe,” he said. “This is a treasure of unspeakable value.” He didn’t look angry.

Tauriel’s throat was dry as she cleaned and sheathed the dagger. She glanced towards Legolas, who was glaring at her in a way that was not unlike his father’s.

But he, too, said nothing.

And Tauriel knew she had made a grave mistake – that dagger should have been kept hidden; hers and Kili’s secret.

“The spiders have travelled far from Dol Guldur,” Legolas remarked suddenly. Tauriel bowed, taking that chance to take her leave and retrieve her horse.

“The Grey Wizard has told me that the sorcerer calling himself the Necromancer has fled that fortress, and with their Master gone, its dark inhabitants have begun fleeing into the forest,” Thranduil explained. “When we return from Erebor, I expect we shall be kept quite busy.”

Tauriel rode swiftly to her King’s side, and they continued their journey after the interruption. Conversation was kept light – news from Erebor, mundane talk of the journey ahead – and Tauriel’s dagger was never brought up again.

And though she was slightly relieved, she couldn’t shake off that small, nagging feeling that this might have set in motion a chain of events she wouldn’t be able to stop.

* * *

Thorin and Balin stood waiting at the Front Gates of the Mountain – Thorin paced restlessly, while Balin merely watched on with a weary look.

It had been two days since the Elven emissary left, and the company of King Thranduil was due to arrive that afternoon – but the day had grown late, and as the sun cast long, dark shadows into the halls within, the paved roads leading to Erebor remained empty.

“Where are they?” he muttered to Balin, who shook his head in reply.

“Perhaps they came across some difficulties along the road?”

“Perhaps they changed their mind, and are not coming,” Thorin said, daring to hope.

But there came a cry from the guards – and Thorin’s budding hopes were dashed. Over the horizon, King Thranduil’s company arrived in a shining fleet of grey and gold: bannermen, servants, guards, scribes, footmen, stewards – Thorin braced himself for his halls to be filled with the sight and sound of the Mirkwood Elves for the next few days.

They cantered straight into the halls until Thranduil and his son Legolas stood before Thorin, silhouetted in the light of the sunset – the Elf-king took no small expense in his appearance; all grand and regal in threads of moonlight-silvers and trailing a cloak of amber-red.

He had the grace to dismount from his Elk before he addressed his host.

“Thorin son of Thrain, Lord of Erebor,” he greeted loftily, bowing his head slightly. “I apologise for the late arrival. We were ambushed by a plague of spiders … I’m sure you’re familiar with the experience.”

“King Thranduil,” came Thorin’s reply. He delicately ignored the statement about spiders, and turned to address the Elvenking’s son. “Prince Legolas. We welcome you into the Halls of our fathers.”

The procession began to disband. As horses were led away and the Elven host was attended to, Thranduil’s servants brought our four great oaken chests, which they opened before Thorin and Balin with much ceremony.

“Gifts from the Woodland Realm,” Thranduil proclaimed, “as a token of goodwill between our peoples.”

Inside, lying in nests of golden leaves were luxurious bolts of bronze-coloured material; dark bottles of strong Dorwinion wines; delicate, jewel-like cups of blown glass, and dark-red ingots of raw amber that cast a dusky crimson glow in the dying sunlight.

Thorin tried very hard not to feel impressed – even though he undeniably was. The treasures of Mirkwood glittered in his eyes, and he felt the hard edges of his poor temper begin to soften.

He showed no outward sign of it, though: “I appreciate the generosity of the Woodland Realm,” he said stiffly, and, sweeping his arm into the lofty hall, “please join us for our evening meal.”

As the King and his son were escorted in, Thorin glanced back and caught sight of the Elven emissary, who was now briefing an assembly of her guards.

For an instant, she had glanced over her back into the hall beyond – but seemed to gaze pass them, her expression flickering momentarily into a look of expectation; as if she were hoping someone else to be there.

Thorin narrowed his eyes, and solemnly turned to make his way to the great feasting hall.


	6. 5

"Sit down, Kili."

Fili watched as his little brother paced back and forth over the same spot, as if he were aiming wear down a path in the stone floor. "You're making the servants nervous."

They were waiting in the feasting hall for the arrival of the Elven host – but dinnertime had passed and they approached supper, and Kili wasn't the only one feeling impatient as food and drink lay politely untouched on the tables.

"Why do you think they're late?" Kili asked his brother worriedly.

Fili shrugged. "Who knows? A lot of things could have happened. Maybe the Elf-king accidentally left his little tiara at home, and had to turn around to get it."

That was supposed to help his brother laugh, but Kili only managed a strained smile. "Could they have met some trouble on the road?"

"You can't say for sure," Fili said, sighing. He knew why his brother was worried. "Sit down and have some ale, Kili. It will calm your nerves."

But the rest of the Dwarven company was getting restless – and hungry. "I say we start eating now, Elves be  _damned_ ," Dwalin announced, reaching for a leg of chicken.

But just as he did so, the great ironwood doors of the hall burst open, and in strode Thranduil and Thorin, flanked by Balin and the Elvenking's son. Dwalin tossed the chicken leg back onto the golden platter in annoyance, and wiped the grease from his fingers on his leather surcoat.

"Announcing the arrival of King Thranduil Oropherion, Lord of the Woodland Realm, and the Crown Prince Legolas," the Elven herald proclaimed, as the royal retinue strode in. Only when Thorin and Thranduil were seated at the head table did the stewards move forward to serve the meals – and soon the hall was filled with the bright sounds of clanging ale tankards and clinking metal.

Kili tried to glance discreetly past his brother and Uncle at the Elven side of the table. There sat Thranduil (silver crown inlaid with summery green-gold leaves firmly on his head), the Elven-prince, and a handful of attendants who buzzed about their King like gold-clad bees.

No sign of familiar auburn hair, or a flash of forest-green eyes. Kili looked away dejectedly. Though he was hungry, he ate slowly and without mirth.

After the initial inhibitions and wary eyeing each other down, the flowing ale and wines loosened the tensions between Elves and Dwarves. And soon, the visiting Mirkwood Elves were challenging the Dwarves of Erebor to robust drinking games –  _"We were feasting and drinking long before you were born, little ones!"_  – and servants struggled to bring in more kegs of ale as the evening wore down.

Thranduil and Thorin, meanwhile, were deep in conversation. They barely picked at their food, and only sipped at their goblets, occasionally exchanging words in low voices.

The Dwarves had now brought out fifes and harps and had started merry feasting songs – and over the growing commotion, Fili could barely hear what Thorin and Thranduil were saying.

But just then, as the music died down into the beginnings of a new song, Thranduil murmured something to Thorin which caused the latter's shoulders to suddenly go rigid and still.

" –  _appeared to be a gift,"_  seemed to be Elvenking's last word, and his eyes flickered to the other end of the table.

And slowly, Thorin turned to his left.

Fili drew back nervously from his Uncle's gaze – but Thorin wasn't looking at him. His gaze was on Kili, who seemed oblivious to his surroundings, and was looking out over the hall with a wistful look in his eyes.

Fili kicked his brother's foot discreetly under the table, snapping him out of his reverie.

Kili looked about, suddenly noticing his surroundings. "What's the matter, Uncle?"

But as just Thorin was about to speak, a loud roar erupted from the middle of the hall, followed by a series of raucous cheers and jeers. Apparently Gloin had lost in a drinking match to a young Elven steward, and tensions were rapidly rising as Elves and Dwarves began to rally to each side. Food had begun fly everywhere and the music grew louder and faster as tiny pockets of fights erupted around the hall.

Thorin shook his head – when they got like this, there was no stopping them. He motioned to his chief attendant – "Prepare the small audience chamber. I will speak with King Thranduil," and soon the Kings exited the hall, accompanied by a flurry of attendants.

Fili and Kili, however, found that this audience was meant to be between Kings only. They exchanged puzzled glances, unsure what to do after being left behind.

"I'll be back," Kili suddenly announced, getting up from his chair.

"Wait, where are you going?"

Kili nodded towards the other end of the table and said quickly, "Keep him distracted!" before launching himself down the hall and through the open doors.

Fili looked towards the Elven end of the table, where sat Prince Legolas, who had also been excluded from the Kings' meeting – and he was looking more and more uncomfortable at the unfolding chaos before them.

As Legolas smoothly dodged a bread roll that came flying towards his head, he met Fili's gaze, and raised a thoroughly unhappy eyebrow.

Clearing his throat, Fili asked: "So … could I interest you in a tour of the Mountain?"

* * *

 

Tauriel sang softly to herself as she routinely began cleaning, polishing and sharpening her weapons. First, her twin daggers, carved from horn and ironwood – then began oiling and waxing her bow, to keep it supple.

It had been a long journey – after she had dismissed her Guards and retired to her room, her mind began to stray and wander to many troubled thoughts.

Her hand hovered hesitantly over a leather pouch. Dipping her hand inside, she drew out and unsheathed the  _mithril_  dagger – beautiful, useful, and worth a king's ransom. It glistened brilliantly; looking like it would never need polishing or sharpening in a thousand years to keep its shine or its sharp edge.

She traced the twining Elven designs in the metalwork, mingling with the straight-cut Dwarven motifs; and then longingly, she glanced to the door.

_He probably is in council with the Kings now_ , she thought.  _He wouldn't have time to meet me, tonight._

With a small sigh, Tauriel resumed her little song, resigning herself to another night of solitary stargazing until the first light of morning – when there was a quiet knock at the door.

She paused, wondering who would be calling on her so late.  _Hadn't I declined the evening meal?_  Thinking it would be a summons from her King, she rose and strode to answer it.

And there stood Kili – gazing up at her with a beaming smile that looked like it would light up the whole room.

"I'm not supposed to be here," he announced happily.

Unable to help her own smile from spreading out across her face, Tauriel ushered him into the room and shut the door behind them.

"What is the name of the song you were singing?" Kili asked, settling on a stone bench at the foot of the bed.

Tauriel let out a little laugh – of course he would be eavesdropping. "It's the song of Nimrodel," she said, sitting by him. "She was a fair maiden of ancient Lorien, who lived over a thousand years ago. She was fated never to be with the one she loved."

Kili frowned. "What happened?"

And Tauriel continued the song of the Elf-maiden Nimrodel – and though she sang in her native Sindarin, the flowing, lilting Elvenson brought Kili to bright, golden forests, where there lay clear pools of crystal waters in shining glades; and as the melody deepened, he heard of blizzards on white snow; and the curling, foaming waves of a furious sea.

A brief silence settled in the room when it ended – and Kili seemed to shake himself out of a trance. He cleared his throat.

"You have a lovely voice," he said bluntly, seeming to find himself speechless for the first time. There was a light colour in his cheeks, a small tremble in his voice. "I mean, it's a beautiful song. But … I gather it did not end well for both of them."

"No," Tauriel said with regret. "The fair Nimrodel was lost in the snows of the White Mountains, and her beloved Amroth was drowned in the waters of the Bay of Belfalas." And in a faraway voice, she added, "She was a Silvan Elf, just like me."

Kili made a grim face. "I never liked tragedies. If it were up to me, I would have given them a happy ending – they would have sailed away together, and raised many children, and built a shining white tower as a symbol of their love."

Tauriel smiled, and reached across the stone bench for his hand. Her fingers twined into his. "I would have liked that, too," she murmured.

Kili looked at her. In a soft, playful voice he asked, "And what of the song of fierce, beautiful Tauriel, and the Dwarven prince who loved her?"

Tauriel had to laugh at this – the idea that her story would go down into legend like Nimrodel or Lúthien Tinúviel was flattering, yet far-fetched – but even in the playfulness of the question, she imagined a beautiful verse for them, soaring and sad; and hoped, in the depths of her heart, that it had a happy ending.

"Kili," she said, in a soft voice, "My King knows about the dagger."

He raised his eyebrows, and still smiling, asked, "Oh? And what did he think of it?"

"He said it was a treasure of unspeakable value."

"So the Elvenking recognizes the value of Dwarven bladesmithing," Kili surmised cheerfully. "Wait until I show him Fili's new set of throwing axes – I think he'll like those."

"Kili," Tauriel said, this time more seriously. "This will appear to him as if the treasures of Erebor flow freely from its Halls – it will work against your King; he would be hard-pressed to hold onto the wealth of your people."

She shook her head, and pulled her hand away. "I'm sorry," she continued. "I didn't mean to be so careless."

Kili turned to her, fully, then. He took her hands in his again, drawing closer. "If it were up to me, Tauriel, you would be wearing that dagger proudly at your side, to draw whenever you need it; not to keep hidden and secret, where it would serve you no purpose."

He ran his thumbs over her fingers lightly, looking down at their hands. "I do not fear my Uncle," he said. "I know of his hardships and his sacrifices, and he has suffered much. He cares deeply for his kin. But he clings to his past, along with all his bitter grudges."

He looked up at her. "The Wood-elves defended these lands just as bravely as any Dwarf or Man of Dale, and have just as much claim on the wealth of the Mountain. And I may be of the line of Durin, and I may be of my Uncle's blood – but I will not inherit his hatred." Then he lifted her hands, and pressed her fingers lightly to his lips. "I will not be afraid."

Tauriel smiled at him. His words filled her with courage, a fiery hope – but even in the midst of it, she felt cold doubt like a shadow.

“Kili,” she said quietly. “Let me not be the one who will divide you from your kin.” She spoke the words that weighed on her heart, though they were painful to say. “If our fates were ours alone, I will stand by you until the days take us; I will share all the days of the world with you. But you have your people; as I have mine. And should the day come when we have to choose between them, who am I to pull you away?”

At this, Kili said nothing. Curiously, he reached out across the bed and took the _mithril_ dagger from where it lay. He held it balanced in both hands.

“I was given this dagger at my coronation,” he said. “There were other raiments they gave me, since I was supposed to be a Prince and all – rings and cloaks and belts and furs – all sorts of finery I wasn’t used to. This dagger, though, I felt might be useful.”

Slowly, his fingers traced the silver carvings of the handle. “I know why you are worried, Tauriel. But have courage. Have hope. I do not think I will have to choose between you and my people – to me, we are one and the same.” He looked at her; and she saw the light fill his eyes. “I will see a day when Dwarves and Elves are not sundered. This blade is like the world we share – we walk the same paths, under the same stars, fates intertwined.”  

He put the dagger aside. “Let me share this world with you.” And then he smiled – and in the light of his face, Tauriel felt her doubts clear, and a rare hope spring in her heart. He seemed to glimmer with a beautiful, fading light – a light she wanted to seek out; a light that would guide her even on the most silent, loneliest nights.

She knelt before him so that their eyes would meet. "When the time comes," she promised, "I will stand by you. And I, too, will not be afraid."

The smile on his face grew. And slowly, he drew towards her until the space between them closed – and framing her face in the palm of his hand, he laid a soft, burning kiss upon her lips.

Tauriel felt as if her heart would stop. The stars seemed to drop from the sky to dance in her head, and across her tingling skin. She felt Kili's arm encircle her waist as the kiss deepened – and there was nothing else in the world but his lips on hers; the heat of his skin, the sound of her hammering heart.

They pulled away slowly; his gaze was soft as it lingered on her face, and he reached up slowly and ran his fingers through a lock of her hair.

"Ours might not be as great a song as that of Nimrodel and Amroth," he said quietly. "But when they sing of us in great feasting halls and over burning hearths, let's give them a happier ending."


	7. 5.5

Legolas turned the sturdy Dwarven blade round and round in his hands, following the straight-carved lines and bold, cutting angles in its design with his eyes.

He stood in Erebor’s armory. The cavernous room housed all of the Dwarven kingdom’s weapons and armour – suits of mail and steel gauntlets, iron maces and axes – hanging from the walls or standing lined in organized stacks, gleaming gold and battle-ready.

Testing the weight of the broad sword in one hand, Legolas made a graceful, slicing motion with it – gliding an elegant arch in the air, as was the Elven style, when Fili said, “It’s more of a cleaver, actually.”

“What?”

Fili took up a similar sword to the one Legolas wielded, and cut through the air as if he were cleaving through thick bone, finishing off with a forceful lunge forward.

“With this,” Fili said, “I can take down a full-grown boar, or bear.”

“Or Warg,” Legolas added.

Fili smiled up at the Elven prince. “Yes. Or Warg.”

Fili had earlier taken Legolas around the halls of Erebor to keep him occupied. _“Keep him distracted!”_ Kili had said, but it was easier said than done. As Fili led him through the Halls of Kings, it became very clear that the Elf was mostly silent, and only politely showing interest in the towering golden statues and tapestries.

In an act desperation, Fili had led him to the armory.

He observed curiously at how Legolas now studied the Dwarven sword with grim-faced intensity, and – almost like a mirror-image, copied Fili’s cleaving-and-lunging motion perfectly. Fili raised his eyebrows, impressed.

“You’re a fast learner,” he said, taking the sword as Legolas handed it back.

Legolas didn’t seem to acknowledge the compliment at first, but a moment later nodded and replied, “A student is only as good as his teacher.”

Fili saw how the Elf’s eyes followed the swords as he sheathed them – and a new idea formed in his head.

“Say,” he ventured, “would you like to see my new throwing axes? I just had them made, and have yet to break them in.”

Legolas raised an eyebrow, and – to Fili’s surprise – nodded and smiled slightly.

The rest of the evening was spent with Fili giving Legolas a brief demonstration of Dwarven weaponry; and in exchange, Legolas showed him his ‘white knives’, as he called them – slender twin blades of polished hornwood, sleek and sharp – even demonstrating the basics of wielding them: smooth, gliding strokes, which to Fili looked almost dance-like.

It soon became apparent that the evening was getting late.

“You must be tired, Prince Fili,” Legolas said politely, though his manner was stiff. “Please feel free to take your leave for the night.”

Slightly thrown off guard by the formality, Fili merely shrugged and said, “Just call me ‘ _Fili_ ’, I never really got used to the title. And,” he added, after thinking briefly, “I should probably see you to your lodgings – Erebor stretches deep into the Mountain, and you might lose your way.”

They walked through the now-silent halls, towards the residences they had assigned to the visiting Elven host. With most of the inhabitants of Erebor retired to their homes within the Mountain, the halls were now empty and dim with sparsely-lit torches. They were the only people there, save for the occasional patrolling guard.

After a while Legolas said, “I had seen you use them before.”

Fili turned to look at him. “What?”

“The twin swords. I had seen you wield them before, when you first entered our forest. The spiders had attacked you, and you and your company had defended yourselves … before we took you prisoner.”

Fili paused in his tracks, not saying anything in reply. _No wonder he caught on so fast._

Legolas took a moment to gather himself, before saying: “I apologise, if my people had mistreated you then.”

Fili felt suddenly felt embarrassed at the apology. He remembered their brief imprisonment in the Elvenking’s dungeons – the cells were at least dry and sandy, and the guards had ensured that they were fed. The experience wasn’t pleasant … but better the Elven prisons of the Woodland Realm, than rank Goblin caves or desolate Orc dungeons.

“Well, I expect if we ever do visit the Mirkwood again, you will be able to redeem yourselves as hosts,” Fili said. “I heard your King is fond of throwing merry feasts and parties.”

Legolas seemed to sigh wearily. “Yes, yes he is.” And then, bowing slightly he added, “You are welcome in the halls of the Woodland Realm at any time, Prince Fili.”

“I told you, just call me Fili.”

They resumed their walk – but their pace seemed more leisurely now. The silence was filled with light conversation: Fili learnt that Legolas was far, far older than him (Elves were immortal, and the Elven-prince was already centuries ahead in age) … but, talking to him, Fili also learnt that, no matter how old you were, Dwarf or Elf – being an heir to a great King wasn’t any less of a burden.

“I haven’t truly gotten used to my new life here,” Fili admitted. “This grand life, this royal life – it is so different from how I grew up. My brother and I used to hunt in the forests and ride in the rain, and it didn't trouble us – the fact that the greatest treasure in all the Kingdoms lies beneath our feet is still unreal to me."

There was a brief silence. Suddenly Legolas said, “I do not intend to inherit my Throne.”

Fili stopped and stared at him. “What?”

Legolas smiled sadly; his brow creased in a faint expression of pain. “I had been thinking it over a long time, ever since the Battle was over. I intend to leave the Woodland Realm soon – I feel as if I cannot stay.” Then, he added, mostly to himself, “I’m not quite sure why I’m telling you this.”

Fili had realized, all at once, why the Elven-prince had come to that decision. They were both quiet, and the hollow sound of their footsteps echoed against the stone.

“Tauriel is in love with your brother,” Legolas said suddenly. His voice was quiet, somber.

Fili took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for a plunge into deep water. “Yes,” he said eventually. “And Kili is in love with her, too.”

“I did not understand it at first,” Legolas replied – and Fili caught a faint bitterness in his voice, a lingering hurt. “Dwarves are mortal, and my father had warned her – and yet, on that morning at Ravenhill, she wept over your brother, as I have never seen her weep before … and I understood, somehow. And it’s a terrible feeling – as if I had been left behind.”

Fili had never heard the Elven-prince speak like this before. A new thought struck him; a cold truth, sudden and swift. He looked away for a moment before saying, “It’s as if you’re losing bits and pieces of them every day, isn’t it?”

Legolas looked at him. The same understanding seemed to cross his face. “You, too, feel as if your brother is leaving you behind.”

Fili nodded and smiled – he was quite beginning to grow quite fond of the Elven-prince. Though he had the same noble bearing and fair, silvery hair of his father, Legolas and Thranduil were almost nothing alike.

And Fili felt a little sorry for Thorin for not being able – or not being willing – to see this side of the Elves.

“The Grey Wizard spoke of a dark power rising in the East,” Legolas continued. “And I feel that my fate is somehow entwined to it. Times are slowly changing, Prin—Fili. The winds speak of fearful omens and wearier days to come. And Tauriel was right – we are all part of this world, and play a role in its fate and fortunes. But I fear that we might be called to account for it sooner than we think.”

They had walked and walked, and now stood at the curving stairwells that led up into the lavish apartments for the King’s most esteemed guests. Faint harp-song and twittering laughter could be heard from the open courtyards above – Elves rarely ever needed sleep, and were still making merry deep into the night.

A pair of attendants came flurrying down the stairs. “My lord Legolas!” one of them called, then spoke in rapid, worried Sindarin.

“I’ve barely been gone,” Legolas replied in the Common Tongue, eyes flickering towards Fili for a moment, “and I am not alone. There is no need to be so worried.”

The attendants turned, and seemed to notice Fili for the first time. Bowing, one of them spoke: “Our deepest apologies for your troubles, Lord Prince! Thank you for escorting our lord Legolas safely here.”

Fili was beginning to feel more and more self-conscious with all the honorifics he’d received that night. Nodding an acknowledgement, he turned to Legolas and said, “Well then – goodnight, Legolas. And the best of fortunes be with you in all your endeavours.”

Legolas nodded. “And to you as well, Fili.”

Fili turned around to go – but barely walked a few steps before he spun around. “If you –“ he began, then attempted at a few beginnings – “Should you need – well, I meant to say that there are many dangers, out there. Wargs, goblins, bandits, thieves … my brother and I have faced our fair share of trouble on the road.”

Legolas listened, eyebrows raised.

Fili continued, “Before you leave – that is, before you leave Erebor – you are welcome to equip yourself with anything you wish from our armory. A pair of daggers, or swords – they might come in useful, one day.”

There was an expectant pause, filled only with the sounds of the distant Elven music and the whisper of burning torches. Fili looked up, and saw that Legolas had an amused, wistful look on his face, smiling as if he were remembering something from long ago.

“You will make a great King under the Mountain, Fili of Erebor,” came Legolas’ reply. He touched his hand to his heart, and extended it out in a sweeping gesture, which Fili recognized as a sort of Elven farewell. The Elven prince then swiftly made his way up to his rooms, followed by his attendants.

And as Fili turned and walked back, he imagined how – as future King under the Mountain – his first act would be to find a way to equip each of his guards and soldiers with a pair of Mirkwood white knives.

He liked the way they glinted in the firelight.


	8. 6

Kili sat by the window of his darkened room, leaning against the cool stone wall, his thoughts restless and sparkling as they whirled in his head like scattered stars.

His memories drifted back to earlier that night, when – teasing and cajoling – Tauriel tried to chase him from the room.

“Princes need their sleep,” she declared with a laugh, “and I will not be the reason of you lacking it.” She ushered him to the door, but he hung back, lingering in the doorway, reluctant to leave.

He remembered the devious flicker of her smile before she’d leaned down to kiss him again; and the echo of her laughter as she pushed him, delirious, out of the doorway into the hall.

“Goodnight, Kili,” she’d said softly, as the door closed between them. Kili had watched as she disappeared into the soft golden light of her room; and – standing there, stunned-drunk and heart beating wildly – it was as if he was caught in the heady afterglow of her presence.

The hallway seemed so dark, then. The trek back up to his rooms seemed so desolate, so lonely.

He closed his eyes; remembering the way her hair shone like fire, vivid and copper-red, and the way her singing voice rose and fell soothingly like the sound of rain. He recalled the way her eyes would meet his gaze and then flick away shyly; but tentatively turn to look back at him again. At times he’d caught himself staring at her in the firelight; the way it lit her face ... he felt as if he were walking through a dream; she was so beautiful.

And he sighed, wondering how could he already miss her when it had only been mere hours since they parted for the night.

He tried again to recall the song of Nimrodel and sing it softly under his breath, when there was a quiet tapping at his door.

He strode across the room and answered it, and was taken aback to see his Uncle standing there, grave and grim as carven stone, looking weary.

"Had a nice stroll?" Thorin asked with an accusing tone, stepping into his nephew's room without needing to be invited. 

He strode to the window, and Kili nervously watched as Thorin stood there for a while, his face turned towards the stars as they wheeled across the night sky.

All at once, Kili became conscious of how dark his room was. He hurriedly lit a few lamps and braziers, and waited, as the firelight cast a deep golden glow and stark, flickering shadows about the room.

Finally Thorin spoke. “The Elvenking and I spoke at length,” he said, turning to look at Kili. “He mentioned a great deal of things to me. He’s fond to speak in riddles, thinking himself clever, but I cannot let it stand when he accuses my own kin for conspiring against me.”

Kili stood silent, already knowing where this conversation was heading. But then he said, quietly, “You have something to ask me, Uncle.”

“Your _mithril_ dagger,” Thorin said. “The one given to you, at your coronation. Do you have it with you?”

Kili shook his head at this, unwaveringly meeting his Uncle’s gaze. “I have given it to Tauriel, the Elven emissary,” he answered. “As a gift.”

Thorin’s face fell slightly, and he turned away to look out the window again. For a while he was silent again.

“I had thought the Elvenking lied to me,” he said after a moment, shoulders slumped low as he leaned on both hands against the window frame. “I thought it was just a cunning ploy; a way to turn me against my own kin.”

“Uncle –”

“What made you think that your dagger – an heirloom of our people – would be best in the hands of an Elf?” Thorin turned to look at Kili, brow furrowed. “Do the treasures we hold dear matter so little to you?”

As Kili stepped forward to make his reply, Thorin continued: “When we reclaimed the Mountain, my thoughts had been poisoned …I had wrongly accused my own companions of keeping the Arkenstone from me, and the guilt has been with me ever since. I had sworn since that day to never doubt any Dwarf’s loyalty; not if they are of Erebor. But you, Kili – my own blood, my own heir – would so easily betray me –”

“I did not betray you!” Kili interjected, his tone hurt and defiant. “Don’t you see – they are our allies. The Elves of the Woodland Realm, they –” he struggled to find the words amid the clamor in his heart, “they saved us, they defended our Mountain, they fought alongside us –”

“They were saving their own skin, and protecting their friends, the Men of Dale!” Thorin roared. “You think they are any friends of _Dwarves?_ Why did they not defend us against the dragon, then? Why only come to us _now_ , with our coffers full of treasure, but close their doors to us then, when we were poor and starving?”

Thorin shook his head. “They may have pretty words, coming with trade pacts and alliances. And as King, I will honour them, for I do not think all dealings with Elves are unprofitable.” His voice sunk low, and deepened into a quiet, scowling tone. “But there is little love between Elf and Dwarf.”

“No,” Kili said softly.

Thorin stared at him. “No?”

Kili lifted his head, feeling a rush of courage fight against the cold bitterness that overtook him. His Uncle’s words wounded him, but he threw aside his hurt and his rage to speak from his heart.

“You’re wrong, Uncle,” he said. And as he spoke his words grew stronger and clearer; filling the room like the warm glow of candlelight. “We are not so different, Elves and Dwarves. We walk the same paths, under the same skies; we both long for peace and fight against the dark that threatens it.” He took a deep breath. “Thorin, I –”

Kili could feel his heart hammering in his chest, a dryness in his throat … but as he spoke on, a soaring bravery overtook him, guiding his words.

 “I love her,” he said simply – “I’m in love with Tauriel, daughter of the Woodland Realm. She has my heart’s love, as I have hers.”

Thorin was silent, then. He was frowning – but not in anger.

Then he sighed, and sat on the window’s ledge, the stony look on his face betraying no fury or disappointment.

"Kili."

He recognized that tone in Thorin's voice – it wasn't just the voice of his Uncle he was hearing; but the voice of the Lord of Erebor, King Under the Mountain. "You must think like an heir to the line of Durin, now. If anything should happen to me or your brother, the line passes down to you. Do you think our people would accept a mere Elven maid – who is not even of a royal line – as their Queen? Will you be able to produce an heir?"

Kili flinched, his heart twisting.

"And do you think," Thorin continued in a gentler tone, "she would be happy in the stone halls of Erebor, under the Mountain? Elves are folk of the Skies, nephew, and we Dwarves are folk of Stone. Would she be happy underground, in our forges and mines, when her Elvish blood calls for her woodland trees and rivers?"

A flicker of doubt entered Kili’s heart – he knew his Uncle’s words were painfully, soberingly true. But even as he strode to his Uncle’s side, Thorin spoke.

“You are still young, Kili; and though you have grown much on our journeys, there is much of the world you do not know. Those days of wandering the lands are over. You have a _home_ now, and a Throne you would inherit. And that means realizing that you do not have the careless freedom you once had; even when choosing whom to love."

Kili looked his Uncle in the eyes – and he saw hurt there, a pain from a wound that never healed. His Uncle loved him, he was sure – but Thorin was also a King who needed to rule a Kingdom, and if that meant making difficult choices.

“I will allow your gift,” Thorin said eventually. “But it comes under a condition. I want you to make preparations to leave Erebor.”

Kili’s eyes widened in alarm. “What?”

“I will send word to my cousin Dain tonight. You are to be sent to the Iron Hills, to captain the soldiers of Ironfoot and train among them. I’ve received word that they are in need of a worthy leader; a Dwarf of the line of Durin to command their army.”

Kili could feel cold dread seep into his heart – the Woodland Realm did not have any dealings with the Iron Hills; the Elvenking did not send any emissaries that far.

He was never going to see Tauriel again.

“Wait,” Kili protested, breathless with panic. “Uncle, don’t – don’t do this. We are in times of peace; we have no need to train soldiers or – or armies –”

“You would not know how our enemies work,” Thorin said darkly, decisively. “Do not think times of peace will last forever. You will go to Dain, Kili. I am not asking – I’m commanding you, as your King. You will leave in two days.”

And without another word, Thorin left – leaving Kili in the darkness and silence of his room.


	9. 7

“He means to send me away.” Kili’s voice was low, and there were shadows under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept all night.

Fili sat with him, in the grand chamber of Erebor’sFountain Pavilion – a towering gallery where sat rows and rows of fountains of carved stone and wrought silver, fed by mountain springwater.

An ancient Dwarven King had long ago had built the Fountain Pavilion to enjoy the chiming, silvery sound flowing water as he leisurely strolled with his court – but Kili had asked his brother to meet him here, so that the splashing water would drown out their conversations from eavesdroppers. They sat by themselves, with a group of attendants standing a respectful distance away, as pale morning sunlight streamed into the room.

“Send you away?” Fili asked. “To where?”

“The Iron Hills, to captain Dain’s armies,” Kili said. He sighed heavily and rubbed his temples. “What should I do, Fili? I have no place there.”

Fili was silent for a moment. Kili had come to him that morning, looking so pale and desolate, his thoughts were immediately drawn to a time long ago, when he watched Kili succumbing to the poison of a Morghul arrow and worried as an older brother would.

But he hadn’t expected this.

“I will speak with Thorin,” Fili said gravely. “I do not know if we’re able to change his mind, but … we still have time. I’ll see what I can do.”

Kili smiled weakly. “Thank you, brother.”

“Come, then,” Fili said as he stood, and held out a hand to his brother. “We have a long day ahead of us. Let’s at least have a decent breakfast, first.”

* * *

Erebor was kept busy that morning – the visiting Elves brought much activity to the Dwarves of the Mountain, and commotion echoed vibrantly throughout the vast stone halls.

The Dwarves pored over seas of parchment and mountains of books together with their Elven counterparts, as trade pacts were sealed, borders established, trade routes were mapped out and everything was documented in ink and paper. The Mountain echoed with conversation in the Common Tongue and Sindarin, among more discreet whispers in Khuzdul, and the atmosphere was bright and bustling.

Above all this, in the upper storeys of the Mountain, Thranduil stood waiting with a retinue of his own court in a wide audience chamber.

This was to be the first official meeting between Kings – and Thranduil waited for his hostThorin to arrive, and for their own lengthy negotiations to begin.

A cold feeling of dread had settled in his stomach since morning. He hadn’t slept well that night – he was haunted by a vague foreboding; a shadow on his heart that wouldn’t be lifted – but in the light of day, it waned into a mere nagging distraction that he brushed aside, while he faced the day ahead.

_I hope the Dwarvenking would be wise in today’s negotiations,_ he thought to himself, glancing out room’s only window with hard, steely eyes. _I hope Thorin would not be like his grandfather._

There was a polite knocking at the door. For a moment, they assumed it was their arriving hosts – but when it creaked open, Feren, one of Thranduil’s personal messengers, politely slipped in.

“My lord,” Feren said, with a slight bow. “Your son has come to seek audience with you.”

Thranduil raised his eyebrows slightly. “See him in.”

Even as he said this, the large double doors swung open and Legolas entered the room. He was dressed in his travelling clothes – a thick cloak, sturdy leather boots, and, curiously enough, a pair of Dwarven daggers strapped to his back.

“Father,” Legolas said. The tone of his voice commanded such decisiveness and authority it drew the attention of everyone in the room. They paused to look at him. “I must ask for my leave of you.”

Thranduil knew, then, what that his feeling of foreboding meant. “Ask your leave of me?”

“I will leave the Woodland Realm,” Legolas announced. “And I will seek my fate in the world beyond.”

Thranduil stared at him. Then, with a slight gesture, he dismissed his attendants and advisors – they streamed from the room, closing the doors behind them, leaving their King and Prince alone.

“Explain yourself,” Thranduil said, his voice already tinged with a slight note of bitterness. “You gave no prior word of this. Why, of all times, do you come to me _now_?”

Legolas stepped closer. “You have seen this day coming, father. You knew it. There have been whispers in the air, in the water, in the trees – we have seen foul things leave Dol Guldur to seek a darker power that has fled into the East. My departure is long overdue.” He paused; then said simply, “I cannot stay.”

Thranduil knew, even before the words were spoken, that it was true – from the rumors that the Grey Wizard spoke; from the vicious spider attack in his woods, and his own quiet, whispering misgivings – the dread that he kept at bay now filled his heart. He sat down in a low chair, feeling the strength leave him.

Legolas strode to stand by his father. “I do not go without regret, Ada,” he said, his voice softer, but no less strong. “But I hear my fate calling me into the word, and I cannot ignore it any longer.”

And the Elvenking gazed upon his son. He knew he couldn’t keep him in the carved halls and under the twilit trees of the Woodland Realm forever. He felt a heavy bitterness fill his heart, and fought hard against it.

A long time ago, Thranduil had locked himself away from feeling any forms of tenderness – and yet, as his son stood on the threshold of leaving him, the Elvenking felt his defenses once again crumble, leaving him vulnerable to hurt and loss.

After a strained hesitation, he said, “Go North; find the Dúnedain.”

“Father?”

“You will find wisdom among them,” Thranduil continued, the words seeming to form themselves as he spoke them. “There is a ranger among them, a young Man they call Strider. He might be of some guidance to you.”

Legolas stared at his father, seeming to let the words sink in. “Thank you,” he said quietly, and turned to leave the room.

“Legolas.”

Thranduil watched as his son paused, standing in the doorway and glancing over his shoulder. He knew this was the last he would see of his son – the last thing that bound him to Middle-earth.

 “Your mother loved you.”

Legolas turned, and looked his father directly – there was a flicker of hope in his eyes, and something else; a grey melancholy, a sadness that never went away.

“More than anything,” Thranduil continued. “More than life.”

Legolas smiled sadly – then he made his farewell, in the wordless way of the Elves – and without another word, he stepped out of the room and was gone.


	10. 8

_Thorin, son of Thrain. King Under the Mountain. Lord of Silver Fountains, King of Carven Stone._

Thorin said his name and titles in his head, and whispered it under his breath like a prayer, as he stood before a tall mirror in his full regalia.

His dark hair had been swept back, held in place with a crown of beaten gold and _mithril_. His beard had been anointed with sweet-smelling oils and adorned with intricate gold beads. A cloak of furs and heavy velvets fell grandly from his shoulders, and he was clothed in fine robes of dark blue and silver.

He looked, every inch, like a King of Erebor should.

But then, his thoughts drifted back to a memory from the night before, how he had watched Kili’s face fall in shock and betrayal … and Thorin didn’t feel like a King at all. He felt more like a lost and fretting Uncle, upset over his nephew’s misbehavior, all tense and defensive and not knowing at all what to do.

_Oh, what would Dis say_ , he wondered, thinking of his sister.

But he drew himself up to his full height and took a deep breath, putting aside his doubts and reservations – he must act on the judgments of a King, and not the sentiments of an Uncle. He had to do what needed to be done.

Thorin stepped out into the antechamber, where his retinue waited.

"Balin," Thorin said. "Has word been sent to Dain?"

"First thing this morning," Balin replied. "Sent our swiftest raven eastwards, we can expect a reply by evening."

Thorin nodded. "Good." And he swept out of his royal apartments, with Balin and Ori and his attendants trailing behind him, making their way to the audience chamber where the Elvenking waited.

* * *

Kili could feel himself grow increasingly restless as the day drew on.

After a rushed breakfast, he and Fili were separated as they were called away on an endless stream of tasks and duties. Now that Thorin was busy attending to the Elven guests, it fell onto the Princes’ young shoulders to give their counsel and royal approval to other aspects of governance.

Kili sat, impatient and agitated in a stuffy records room, as an old farmer from Dale spoke on and on, describing the quality of grain from his farm.

The farmer was trying his best to sound interesting. But his low, droning voice made time seem to drag; even Kili’s attendants could barely stifle their yawns.

It was when the farmer launched into descriptions of the composts used on his crop that Kili finally glanced up sharply and said, “That will be enough for today.”

A silence descended upon the room. The farmer stood stark still and gaping, wondering whether or not to continue, before Kili turned to him and said, “You won’t need to justify your harvest for this year, Farmer Giles – Erebor will still depend heavily on the produce of Dale, if our Kingdom is meant to grow. Please see the Master of Granaries after this, and tell him you have my endorsement for any future business with your farm.”

The farmer bowed repeatedly in gratitude, stammering many thank you’s as he stumbled out of the room.

Kili rubbed his temples tiredly, and placed his palm over his closed eyes. “Will there anything else for today?”

The attendants glanced nervously among each other. “There is one more thing, my lord,” one of them spoke up, delicately.

“What is it?” Kili asked, not bothering to look up.

“You will need to oversee the preparations for your departure.”

Kili’s eyes snapped open; and he glared at the attendant with a wild look, as if he didn’t understand what was being said to him. “Departure?” he repeated, blearily.

“A company of the royal guard will escort you to the Iron Hills,” the attendant continued slowly, “and you will need to personally assign them. We will also need you to look over the gifts we will be sending to Lord Dain –”

“No,” Kili said abruptly. The coldness in his chest grew into a dark, leaden weight, threatening to suffocate him. He suddenly felt it very hard to breathe. “No, no – leave me for today. I will not be overseeing anything.”

He leapt from his chair, and strode from the room. His attendant called helplessly behind him, “But, my lord –”

But Kili was already out of the door and in the hall, and their protesting voices faded behind him.

_I need to find Tauriel._

* * *

Thorin arrived at the audience chamber they had assigned to the Elvenking. As he approached, his steps slowed – something was amiss.

All of Thranduil’s attendants and advisors stood waiting outside the closed doors of the audience chamber in a tense, excited circle – talking in hushed whispers, nervous and twittering.

As they noticed Thorin and his court approaching, one of the Elven advisors stepped forward and said with a grave bow, “Your Majesty – I must express our deepest apologies. Our King does not wish to be disturbed at this moment. We request, with our humblest regrets, that today’s meeting be delayed to a later date?”

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “ _What?_ ” he demanded bluntly, before remembering he was speaking in front of his court and honoured guests and repeated, with more courtesy, “What troubles the Elvenking, in my Halls?”

The advisor paused, before explaining, “The King’s son … the Prince Legolas, he – he has left the Kingdom. He departs from Erebor this day, and will not be returning to the Woodland Realm. The King has requested to be left in peace and silence, while he contemplates his loss.”

_Contemplates his loss?_

Thorin felt a dark mood descend upon him, all traces of good humour fading. _Does he think he is the only one who has faced loss?_ he thought viciously. _Does he think we will all pander to all his moods, like a spoilt child?_

Not caring about proper protocol, or manners, and ignoring Balin’s pleads for him to stay calm, Thorin barged right through the crowd of Elves and through the doors. They could only watch on helplessly as he strode furiously into the room, like a fighter into battle, and swung the doors closed behind him.

He saw the Elvenking, wrapped in heavy cloaks and furs as if he aimed to make a luxurious nest for himself, sitting by the window. A large decanter sat on the table next to him, its clear glass belly full of dark wine.

No doubt, the gold cup that the Elvenking cradled in his hands was full of the same wine, and he sipped on it delicately as he gazed out the window.

“Ah, Thorin,” Thranduil greeted faintly, even before Thorin could say a single word. He reached out for the decanter and smoothly poured a second cup of wine, and waved it vaguely towards Thorin with a distant look in his eyes.

It didn’t take Thorin a second longer to realize that this was quite possibly the first time he had seen the Elvenking drunk.

“Come,” Thranduil said. “Drink with me.”


	11. 8.5

 

The breeze smelt of grass and sweet springwater as it travelled far from the East, and Legolas stood by the open gates of Erebor with his horse, packed and saddled for a long journey. He took a deep breath, feeling as if the freedom of the world was filling his chest – but he lingered, hesitated … feeling like he wouldn't go, not just yet.

From over the distant horizon came the sounds of a blasting horn, long and low – and a traveling caravan of Dwarves came into view. They looked like they had been on the road for months, covered in dust and the wears of travel; and soon the gates of Erebor were flung open, and the rest of their kin streamed out onto the road and into the sunlight to greet them.

Legolas became aware that Fili had stepped out of the Mountain to stand next to him.

"More of our folk from the Ered Luin," Fili explained, as the caravans steadily rolled in. "They came a long way to join us."

Indeed, from the carts that arrived – some even carrying livestock and produce – it looked like they uprooted the entire clan to resettle in the Mountain. The atmosphere was warm and cheerful as families were reunited amid cries of happiness, and gasps of awe as the younger Dwarves gazed upon Erebor for the very first time.

Legolas' eyes were drawn to a particularly gruff-looking, red-headed Dwarf – whom he remembered they called Gloin – as he rushed out pass the Gates to meet his wife and son. Gloin didn't look quite as fierce, and his normally rough features softened with laughter as he greeted his family.

And as Legolas watched them, at the back of his mind, his father's parting words echoed curiously, distant and quiet:  _"Your mother had loved you."_  In the depths of his father's voice, Legolas caught a dull hint of a long-buried pain.  _"More than anything. More than life."_

Gloin's family walked passed him as they entered the Mountain, and as they did, the young Dwarf – small and scrawny, with hair as bright red as his father's and barely a whisker on his chin – began to stare after Legolas, whom was clearly the first Elf he'd ever seen.

Gloin made a disapproving sound. And – in a whisper he thought Legolas couldn't hear, leaned down to his son and said, "Never trust an Elf, my lad." But the little Dwarfling kept stealing curious glances back as they strode quickly through the gates.

Fili turned up to look at Legolas. "I see you took up my offer," he said, nodding at the Dwarven swords that crossed behind Legolas' back. "You've made a good choice."

"I trust your recommendations."

Fili's grin grew wider. "I hope they serve you well."

Just as Legolas was about to make a reply, there came urgent shouts from within the Mountain – calling Legolas' name with a fevered intensity.

They both turned to see Tauriel running towards them in blazing fury, her hair shining like fire as it streamed behind her.

"They told me you're leaving?" she said breathlessly, by way of greeting. "They said you won't be returning?"

Legolas met her bright eyes, gazed upon her flushed cheeks – and suddenly he felt a twist of pain in his chest, sharp and cold and numbing. He was only faintly aware of Fili slipping away and disappearing back into the Mountain.

"Yes," he said. There was a pause, as he struggled for the right words. "I'm sorry, Tauriel, I shouldn't leave without saying goodbye –"

Tauriel punched him in the shoulder, and Legolas nearly lost his balance. There was hurt in her voice as she said, "Of course you shouldn't! You'd think I would forgive you if you did?"

Legolas smiled, amused his companion's candidness, and Tauriel's face reddened – her fiery anger had dissolved into a quiet, self-conscious embarrassment.

They stood in silence. There were many unspoken words between them, but the years they shared together made words unnecessary. Legolas nodded, and mounted his horse.

"Tauriel," he called suddenly.

Tauriel's gaze shot up, and she looked up at him, a thousand emotions crossing her face all at once.

"Do you love him?"

She paused, shocked at the suddenness of the question, but she nodded – and he saw plainly how she struggled to hide the happiness that this declaration brought her.

"I'm sorry," she began, but he stopped her.

"That's all I need to know." Legolas had tried to keep his voice neutral, but he knew he couldn't completely keep out a barest hints of regret. He tried to look away; but Tauriel stepped forward to meet his eyes.

"Legolas," she murmured. "My friend. Thank you, for everything. For all that you have given me, all these years. I did feel it; I knew its depth. I regret I could not return it."

He smiled at her, warmly this time. "Maybe someday I will understand," he said, a little jokingly, "just what is it you find so fascinating about Dwarves."

And she laughed. She touched her fingertips to her heart, and extended it towards him. "Farewell, _mellon-nin_. Maybe our paths will cross in the future."

He nodded. "I certainly hope so."

* * *

Kili approached the Main Gates of Erebor, where a company of the Elven guard had told him he would find their Captain.

He had just arrived to see Tauriel running breathlessly past him, out into the awaiting sunlight. He was just about to call out to her, but stopped with her name fading from his lips as he watched her go to meet the Elven prince.

Kili stood still in the midst of a flowing crowd of caravans that streamed in through the open Gates, beneath the dark shadows of the Mountain, watching Tauriel and Legolas exchange glances and parting words out in the bright sunlight.

It was suddenly so difficult to step out and approach them. He felt, all at once, small and voiceless and unseen.

Fili came to him, then.

"Give them a moment," his brother murmured over the rumbling of carts, glancing out of the open Gates. "He's leaving – not intending to return, apparently. They need to say their farewells."

_Farewells._  Kili watched in silence, as understanding dawned on him.  _So the Elven prince was left his home and his throne, for the sake of the world beyond._

He wondered – with a childish jealousy – if Tauriel would have the same bright look on her face, or come running just as swiftly to wish  _him_  farewell, when it was his turn to leave Erebor for the Iron Hills.

He turned around and went back into the shadowed depths of the Mountain.

"Kili," Fili called after him, "where are you going?"

"Up," came the brusque answer. Kili had a lot on his mind, and needed a quiet place to piece his thoughts together, alone.

Amid all the noise and fuss of the arriving caravans and the Elven Prince's ride from Erebor, an idea sparked off in Kili's head – and as he climbed stairwell after stairwell higher and higher up into the cavernous heights of the Mountain, his idea grew and kindled into a desperate, roaring wildfire of a plan.


	12. 9

The afternoon waned into a tranquil, golden evening, and already the sky was filled with distant cries of ravens returning to the Mountain to roost.

Thorin sat across from the Elvenking; watching him down cup after cup of wine.

He was now on his sixth. Thorin observed – with what was probably a strange mixture of envy and begrudging admiration – that Thranduil held his drink quite well. Anyone of lesser constitution would have collapsed from drinking so much unwatered Dorwinion wine; yet the Elvenking's eyes remained clear and unclouded.

His tongue, however, had loosened considerably.

"The Mirkwood has no vineyards, you see," said Thranduil, with vivid candor and a faint colour in his cheeks. He raised his cup and took another long draught. "The soil is too tough, too sour to grow anything but ironwood. I wouldn't know how we would manage without the Men of Dale."

"Indeed," Thorin replied drily. He didn't know why he was listening to the Elvenking prattle on like this – he had to be hospitable as a host, but his patience was already wearing thin. For the past few hours, all Thranduil seemed interested in talking about were feasts and parties, fine wines, gossip about the Elves in Rivendell, and – strangely enough – orchids.

Thorin had hardly touched his own drink. He did not want to lose his wits in front of the Elvenking – while waiting, probably, for Thranduil to lose his.

But Thranduil had since lapsed into a long silence. After his last remark, he merely looked distractedly out the open window, quietly lost in his own thoughts as he rested his chin in the palm of his hand. His cup had run dry but he didn't bother to refill it.

A cool breeze wafted into the room, bringing with it the sweet scent of grass and springwater. It stirred strands of Thranduil's pale silver hair, and his eyes flickered.

"My son is gone," he said suddenly. He sounded more like he was saying this to himself, voice distant and barely louder than a murmur.

Thorin blinked as he heard this. Watching Thranduil closely, he said, "You saw him ride from here."

"Oh, yes."

"Where will he go?"

"He would go North, to the Dunedain," Thranduil replied, and – right  _there_  – Thorin caught a hint of emotion, crack in his armor. "I expect, with time, he would gain wisdom among them."

Thorin's thoughts suddenly flew to his youngest nephew, Kili – how he would leaving soon, to the Iron Hills, to gain wisdom as captain to their armies. He remembered the flash of shock in Kili's eyes as the order was given – and Thorin shook his head roughly, as if to shake off any lingering feelings of guilt, forcing the memory out of his mind.

"You would see your son return?" he asked the Elvenking.

Thranduil shook his head slowly. "No, Legolas will not return. The Throne of the Woodland Realm will have no need for an heir, in the coming Age."

As Thorin raised his eyebrows questioningly at this, Thranduil said, in a moment of grave clarity, "Has the Grey Wizard not told you of things to come, Lord of Erebor? These days of peace, though hard-won, are not meant to last. The world will see the last of us spent and exhausted like mist in the harsh light of day, and darkness will return to the land in an hour of swords and wolves."

Thorin stared at him, eyebrows furrowed. He hardly dared to believe it, but the Elvenking's words summoned a strange, dark vision in his head: skies blackened by the smokes and fires of Orcs; and air filled with the stench of defilement and death.

He saw, once again, a memory of the battle of Moria: Dwarves slain by the thousandfold, and a towering pyre built to burn the bodies, there had been no place to bury them. He remembered blood glistening on polished brass and steel, and a sunset so red it was as if the sky itself was soaked in blood of the fallen.

Thorin shivered. The vision faded almost instantly, but the dread of it lingered.

"You are certain of this?" he asked the Elvenking. "The rumors are true? That an ancient Enemy has returned?"

"The price of peace," Thranduil said slowly, bitterly, "has always been paid for dearly in bloodshed." As he said it, the strength seemed to slowly leave him. He sank back into his robes and furs, and went quiet.

 _The price of peace._  Thorin sighed and rubbed his face, placing his hands over his eyes. He didn't know why he felt so tired, as if he too felt a weight descend upon his shoulders. Behind his closed eyes, he saw the battle for the Mountain. They were calling it the Battle of the Five Armies these days, as they scrawled the lore into great history books, as if it were something great and glorious – but Thorin had seen so much death, that day. The cold winter sun had risen upon the bodies of slain Dwarves, Elves and Men, and he'd wondered, as King, how many had died to secure his reign.

And he thought of how close to death he had come, that fateful morning. How close to death his own nephews had come.

At the back of his head, Fili's voice came ringing out, echoing and true:  _"We are alive today because they chose to save us. The line of Durin endures because they chose not to leave, when they could have."_

He glanced up at the Elvenking; Thranduil's vague, faraway expression was one of who was lost in memory, and Thorin wondered if he, too, was seeing his dead. If all Kings had to bear the burden of living, when they had sent so many to their deaths.

Thorin's voice was quiet and low, yet demanding. "The day of the battle to reclaim the Mountain," he said. "Why did you stay? Why did you linger in the battlefield after Azog was slain and the forces of Gundabad driven back … why did you try to save us?"

Thranduil steadily held onto Thorin's gaze, and said, so quietly that Thorin barely heard the words, "I thought perhaps …  _perhaps_ this time, peace could be bought without bloodshed." He paused thoughtfully. "I would have Tauriel to thank for that."

_Peace bought without bloodshed._

And suddenly Thorin's thoughts flew, again, to Kili's pleading face the night before, his words ringing with courage and conviction. He thought of a fine blade of  _mithril_ ; glinting silver-white in the hands of an Elven girl.

And again, he shook his head in defeat. He wondered if this was all some divine test; if this was some way he had to prove to Mahal his worthiness as King.

Shedding all pleasantries and any sense of diplomacy – and knowing this was probably going to give Balin a mild seizure for the lapse of protocol – he met the Elvenking's gaze evenly, and said: "You know, Thranduil – I've hated you for a very, _very_ long time."

And Thorin saw Thranduil do what he'd never seen him do before – the unchanging, carved marble façade of his face broke out into a bright grin, and as if we were in his youth, he laughed long and freely.

"Oh, that I know," he said, smiling easily. "This is not news to me."

But Thorin's did not join the Elvenking in his mirth. He continued gravely, "I did not always used to hate you, though."

Thranduil inclined his head curiously at this, but did not interrupt as Thorin spoke on.

"I remember, a day, long ago, when my Grandfather still ruled as King Under the Mountain. I had been very young, then – I did not care much for the governance of kingdoms, nor of the ways of diplomacy. I was a prince in the richest kingdom in Middle-Earth, and all I cared for were swords and tourneys, and riding and hunting and feasting.

"But even in those carefree days, there was a moment when I thought that my eventual turn on the Throne would be something of importance." Thorin met Thranduil's cool grey gaze and said, "It was the day I first met you.

"I never understood that day, why my Grandfather had refused to deliver the White Gems of Lasgalen to you. I remember our craftsmen boasting that it had been their finest work – white gems so pristine, it was as if they sung with the voices of stars. They had been set in charms and necklaces fit for an Elven princess. Yet, those gems stayed locked deep in our vaults, and then buried for years beneath the weight of a dragon.

"I did not question it, then – what say did a young prince have, in the decisions of his King and grandfather? But when I saw him succumb to a cold, dark greed, I understood. And I knew I had to be a better King than he was."

Outside, the sky had rolled into a quiet grey twilight, and stars were beginning to peek their shy, glittering heads out of the dark heights. Quietly, in a voice so soft it was barely a whisper, Thranduil said, "They were not meant for a princess – those gems were made for a Queen." And a silence descended upon the room, as each King entertained his own thoughts.

Thorin had one last question for the Elvenking – one that stayed buried at the back of his head for all these years – he knew this was finally the time to ask it. He knew he would not get another chance like this. "The day the dragon came," he asked slowly, "that day when my people lost our home, lost everything. We called to you for aid. Why did you not help us?"

Thranduil's lips parted as if he were about to answer, but for a while he was silent as he continued to stare out of the window. When his gaze finally drifted towards Thorin, there was a dull look in his eyes, and they glittered strangely in the fading light.

"I have never told anyone," he said in a hushed voice, "how Legolas' mother died."

Thorin leaned forward, never breaking his gaze. "Tell me."

And so Thranduil told him. He did not pause or falter, and his voice remained steady – yet, in his words were vivid, dark memories of war and loss, and the devastating ruin of dragonfire. He spoke of armies of Men and Elves who marched desolately to their doom, smoke choking the air as kingdoms burned to ash, and how no song or cheer could ease the grieving of those who survived. By the time Thranduil was done, the last of daylight had long disappeared, and they sat in darkness lit only by the pale light of the moon.

And at the end of it all, Thranduil said, softly, "I am sorry, Thorin." And he said no more, as though the telling of the tale exhausted him.

Thorin gazed in a long silence out the open window, his thoughts still lingering on what he had just heard. He did not doubt Thranduil's words; he knew them to be true – and now he knew of the Elvenking's deep fear of dragonfire, and where it was rooted. Somehow, it did not make Thorin feel any better to learn this weakness of his.

Thorin stared down at his reflection in the dark-gold wine of his cup and said nothing. Then, with a slight shrug, he took a full swig of the drink – and immediately made a face.

 _Elven wines_  … he probably will never get used to them. They were far too sweet, and the drink was like honeyed fire as it travelled down his throat.

Thranduil raised his eyebrows. "Is my wine not to your liking?"

"It's nothing like our Dwarven ale," Thorin replied, "but at least it has more body than what they served us at Rivendell."

And Thranduil smiled, as if this pleased him.

"You know, my son never took a liking to fine wines," he said. "I do not know if that reflects my failure or success as a parent."

"If he had been born a Dwarf, he'd pick up drinking the moment he learnt how to walk," Thorin found himself saying. "Fili and Kili could hold down flagons of ale the moment their beards grew in."

"Legolas was always so competitive when he was younger, but I don't suppose I will see him in a drinking match with a Dwarf anytime soon." The thought seemed to amuse Thranduil, who threw a brief, wistful glance at the door, before staring once more out the window.

A moment of silence passed. And then, Thorin said, quietly and calmly, "The White Gems of Lasgalen. They are yours."

Thranduil looked up – his face was once again blank, betraying no emotion, and he did not stir when Thorin continued: "I will give the order once I leave this room. You may return to your Woodland kingdom with the treasures you seek – the heirlooms of your people."

And the Elvenking blinked, slowly and languidly. He looked like he had a million things to say. But when he eventually spoke, he simply murmured: "Thank you, Thorin, son of Thrain. My people will not forget this."

Thorin stood, and strode to the door. He stopped when Thranduil called out to him, "And why the change of heart?"

He turned to look over his shoulder. He seemed to weigh over several replies, but then said: "You have lived and ruled for centuries, Elvenking, but you are not the only King who has regrets buried in the past." And when Thorin once again met Thranduil's gaze, there was no malice, no hatred in his eyes. "I, too, have lived a lifetime of regret. But I think I've regretted enough."

And as he swung the doors open, he said, "Thank you, for the wine. But, if you would excuse me, I must go find my nephew."


	13. 10

 

Kili stared up at the inky night sky, lit with the faint firelight of stars. Overhead, they glimmered blue, silver and gold in the dark; a cold and distant light.

He lay on his back on a cold stone terrace in the upper heights of the Mountain, humming softly to himself. The first Dwarves of Erebor had carved these wide, open platforms into the high slopes of the Mountain, facing the open plains and rolling foothills to the South. In times of peace, they had served as the perfect place to host great summer feasts; and in times of war, they were strategic vantage points to spot enemies coming over the horizon.

But right now, in the gathering twilight, the terrace was abandoned – and Kili welcomed the silence and the solitude.

Absent-mindedly, he reached into his tunic. His fingers brushed against folded pieces of parchment, tied together with hemp string and kept close to his chest. It was a collection of letters. He was wondering just how he was going to deliver them – he felt like he needed a great deal of courage to do it, and lay now under the stars to quietly gather it.

He suddenly heard the light padding of footsteps behind him. There was a familiar grace in these steps – so light, they were almost silent.

A moment later, this approaching someone lay down right next to him, feet in the opposite direction, so that their faces aligned.

Kili didn't need to turn his head to know who it was. He recognized that familiar woodland scent: the deep smell of trees and earth and dew-wet leaves; the sweetness that lingers in the air after rain.

"I'm very certain we're not even allowed to see each other," Kili said, with a smile. "Is this any way for the Captain of the Guard to behave?"

He could hear the grin in Tauriel's voice. "Since when," she teased back, "were you ever concerned with the proper way to  _behave_?"

He laughed, long and earnestly, at this. And just like that, he felt his worries lighten, like a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

Kili turned to look at her, and saw her face seemingly glimmer with a soft, rare light. "Tauriel. I've wanted to speak to you."

She nodded. "I know – your brother told me where I'd find you." She sighed, her voice tinged with exhaustion. "I'm so sorry, Kili – so much happened today. I feel as if I'd witnessed enough to fill an Age."

Kili thought briefly of all that had happened through the day, and silently agreed. "Legolas rode from Erebor," he observed.

"Yes." Tauriel hesitated with her words, before she spoke again. "And it seems as if your fates are to constantly mirror one another's. I heard the news, Kili – you … your King means to send you away."

"He does," Kili murmured in a small voice, tasting the bitterness of the words in his mouth.

The stars wheeled silently overhead and neither of them spoke of the subject further. Both of them knew why Thorin had come to that decision … there was no need to mention it. But though dread and worry for the coming morning hung heavy in the air, just for tonight they shared the bright, simple joy of being beside each other – even if it seemed to be for the last time.

Kili reached across, and threaded locks of Tauriel's hair through his fingers. They were soft as they slipped through his loose grip, and memories of the amber glow of her hair in the golden firelight of the Elvenking's dungeon flitted through his mind. "Did I ever tell you," Kili said quietly, "how you terrified me, the first time I saw you?"

And Tauriel laughed heartily at this – to Kili's ears, her mirth was like a fine music, filling the air as if the sky were raining stars.

"I  _terrified_  you? Was it because I had just single-handedly slain two spiders, or because I was going to take you away, and imprison you in my King's dungeon's forever?" she asked.

"It was probably both," he admitted, "and also the fact that you were the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life."

She turned to look at him. Their faces were only inches apart, and even in the dark, he could see the blush that now dusted her cheeks. "You will achieve nothing with flattery, Master Dwarf."

He turned his face away to look back up at the heavens, feeling heat rise to his own face. "It's true, though."

Kili remembered that day in the forest – the moment she'd spun around to throw her dagger and her eyes met his, he couldn't look away. She had shone with such a fierce brilliance in the darkness of the forest; a ferocity that followed him like a heady afterglow. She had been, all at once, frightening and fascinating, with a startling beauty that he couldn't look away from.

"Tauriel," he said suddenly. "Come away with me."

She suddenly went still. Turning to him, in a hushed voice she said, "Kili ... I know what you're asking of me. But I cannot just leave. I have responsibilities I cannot just abandon –"

"Why not?" he asked; bold, challenging. "You've done it before."

She threw him an accusing look. "Those were under completely different circumstances, Kili. You were  _dying_. There were Orcs overrunning and defiling the lands. I couldn't just stay back and do  _nothing_."

"And what are our circumstances now?" he asked, his voice suddenly growing quiet. "We would merely wait in the shadows of our Kings until the all ages are faded and past; and we would have spent all our lives just waiting ... " and here his voice took on a distant, bitter quality – "always chasing a light that's out of reach; catching glimpses of it between cracks in the stone ... and never truly finding it."

When Tauriel made no reply, Kili glanced towards her – and noticed, in alarm, tears gathering in her eyes.

"Tauriel, I –"

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "Forgive me ... it's as you said." She took a deep breath, and continued, "Truthfully, you terrify me, too, Kili – I fear a time when you would leave me; called away to the distant shores beyond this world where I cannot follow. I am scared of the long years without you. I feel the dread of it, deep in my heart, so strong it chills me. Sometimes it makes me wish we never met."

And Kili went quiet. Gently, he lightly brushed the tears from the corners of Tauriel's eyes with his fingertips. "Then let us go," he said, "far away from here. Let us not waste another moment. Let us leave now, tonight, and make our own place in the world."

Tauriel sat up, seizing Kili's hands and drawing him up with her. She drew her face close to his; so that they were mere inches apart, and he could see the glitter of tears caught on her lashes. "I will  _not_ run," she whispered. The strength and fearlessness in her voice was like tempered steel; resolute and unflinching.

He grew silent, listening to her.

"We will not steal away, like exiles in shame," she continued. "What time we have in this world will be spent in the sight of all – they will see us, in the full light of day, for we have nothing to hide." Tauriel paused, bit her lip, and said in a calmer voice, "Perhaps … perhaps your Uncle could be persuaded, Kili. We are not without hope. There are other ways."

Kili looked at her with a tender gaze, smiling softly. But there was a strange distance in his eyes. "Yes, perhaps," he said quietly, and, raising Tauriel's hands to his lips to kiss them, he pulled away and stood.

He could see confusion flicker for a second across her face. She too rose to her feet.

"Kili," she said, voice low with doubt, "I should know better than to say this, but … please don't do anything  _reckless_."

Kili's face broke out into a broad smile and he laughed boldly, despite himself – and saw that his laughter reassured her, even for an instant. "You'll need to look again at whom you're giving that advice to," he said.

She did look at him for a lingering moment, a smile playing on her lips, then bent down and laid a light kiss on Kili's forehead, before turning to go. "Tomorrow, we shall talk more," Tauriel promised, and left as quietly as she came.

Kili turned to face the open plains of the south. The fire in his heart was less like a wildfire, now – it was a slow-burning furnace, melting iron and steel, forming plans and devices. He smiled to himself. He lightly touched his forehead, where the tingling warmth of Tauriel's kiss still lingered, filling him with exactly the courage he needed.

_Don't do anything reckless._

Kili sighed and shook his head, and reached into his tunic, where the folded parchment lay against his chest. The letters were sealed with his own royal sigil – a bow and arrow crossed over the sign of the House of Durin, embossed in thick red wax.

"I'm sorry, Tauriel," he said, and took a long deep breath. "I just need to do what needs to be done."

* * *

But as the night drew on and the moon climbed lofty in the sky, Tauriel couldn't help but feel an uneasy tugging at her heart.

She didn't understand it – as she loosely ran a comb through her hair and undid her braids, she felt a gentle foreboding, as if the night itself whispered warnings and quiet misgivings into her ear.

Kili's last words to her played in her mind:  _"Yes, perhaps."_ There had a strange quality to his voice … as if there was something that he was hiding from her. Tauriel sighed and shook her head, trying to shake it off.  _I will see him again in the morning_ , she promised to herself.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at her door.

Tauriel was expecting to meet one of her lieutenants with a late report of the day's events, but as she swung the door open, she stopped short when she saw the Crown Prince of Erebor himself standing in the dooorway.

"Your Highn –  _Fili_ ," she began, surprised. She became very aware of her undone braids and hastily swept the stray locks away from her face. "How may I serve?"

"Tauriel. I may have some news. It concerns my brother – is he not with you?"

She stared at Fili, and in her heart she felt the thread of unease began to unravel. "No," she said, steadily rebraiding her hair. "The last I spoke to Kili was hours ago, on the stone terraces."

There was a bright flash of worry in Fili's eyes, and he seemed to be holding back his words. "I'm sorry Tauriel – but I might need you to come with me."

Fili led her through the silent, torchlit halls of Erebor, and as they walked, he shared with her startling news.

"Thorin has withdrawn his decision to send Kili to the Iron Hills," he said. And, looking up to see Tauriel's stunned gaze, he continued, "He has also released the White Gems of Lasgalen to your people. Your King has personally received them, not too long ago."

But even as Tauriel's spirits lifted at this seemingly good news, it still did not exactly quell her fears. There was a reason Fili had personally come to her door instead of sending a messenger – there was something he had not yet told her. And she knew, wherever he was leading her, she would find out.

They finally stopped in front of the entrance to Kili's own royal chambers – towering doors of grey oak and iron, set in a stone archway. Fili pushed the doors open.

Standing in the flickering torchlight of the antechamber beyond was the King of Erebor himself, decked in unadorned, simple furs, wearing a stormy look on his face and clutching a crumpled piece of parchment in his hands. He looked unrested, with a shadow darkening his brow.

She had always seen the Dwarven King high on his throne of stone, looking as strong and solid as if he were carved from the Mountain itself – but now, he seemed distant and somehow defeated, the power gone from his sloped shoulders.

"My lord," she whispered, stepping into the firelight and addressing Thorin with a short, respectful bow. Her heart was fluttering wildly in her chest with an ever-mounting worry. A thousand questions danced through her mind, demanding to be asked, but she held her tongue, waiting for the King to address her first.

With only a short nod and no further ceremony, Thorin thrust the handful of parchment towards her.

"Kili left letters in his chambers," he said, in a low voice that was barely a whisper. "We had found them not too long ago. This one is addressed to you."

Tauriel's gaze flickered briefly from Thorin to Fili – but, silently, she began to read the letter, scrawled in Kili's unmistakable squarish, bold handwriting:

_"_ _Tauriel_ _–"_ it read simply,

_"_ _You would resent me – perhaps even hate me, for what I have chosen to do. But trust me when I say I had no other choice but this. There were so many times I dreamt of this day ... but never under these circumstances, and not without you by my side._

_"_ _There were days when the distance between us was more than just a dull aching – I felt as if your absences were like long, unforgiving winters when the land lies hushed and sleeping. And the short moments that we do have together are like springtimes that end too soon; summers that die at noontide._

_"_ _I cannot endure this any longer._

_"_ _Legolas is no less of a Prince than I am, and perhaps his destinies are greater, but if he is able to choose his own fate, then I shall choose mine. And it is this:_

_"_ _The next time you see me, I will be riding to the gates of Erebor, carrying two woven wreaths of gold and silver leaves – the first I shall lay before the Throne of my uncle, the King Under the Mountain, as testimony of a lasting peace and fellowship between two sundered Peoples. And the second I shall offer to you, and intend to lay upon your head, should you choose to wear it._

_"_ _Tauriel – I am sorry, if the pain of loving me has cost you greatly. If I had a choice, I would follow you to the ends of time, towards the darkening twilight of the world, never leaving your side. But whatever our destinies are, mine began that day when I saw you standing in the dark of the forest, and I had called out to you. I knew whatever paths I took in this world – no matter how far they take me, under golden linden boughs or by silver pools of crystal waters – they would eventually lead me back to you._

_"_ _I swear I will return. Wait for me.  
Kili."_

When Tauriel reached the end of the letter, she released a long-held breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. She looked up to met Thorin's and Fili's gazes.

It was as if all the light had disappeared from the world. The air ran cold around her, and she felt a chill pierce her heart, like the ice-cruel bite of winter.

_Woven wreaths of gold and silver leaves. Golden linden boughs, silver pools of crystal waters ..._

"What does it mean?" Fili asked in a hushed voice.

"It means," Tauriel said, feeling the weight of the answer slowly begin to crush her, "he means to go to Lothlorien."


	14. 10.5

**H** **ORIZONS OF SKY & STONE**  
CHAPTER 10.5

* * *

"Lothlorien?" Thorin murmured, staring at Tauriel, eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You are certain of this?"

Tauriel nodded. "The words Kili chose in his letter," she said in a low voice, "they all point to the sacred wood of Lothlorien, home of only the most noble of the Sindar. That is where he will go."

"What business would Kili have there?" Thorin said, hardly daring to believe it. "A Dwarf has no place in that Elven wood."

"He intends to form an alliance."

Both Thorin and Tauriel turned to look at Fili, who had been pacing the room slowly and now spoke up from the corner. He stepped closer to them. "The Elves of Lothlorien are more isolated and less open to outsiders," he explained, "they are not as friendly as the folk of Rivendell, Uncle. The gates to their realm are closed, and their roads are guarded. Kili still thinks he is to be sent away to the Iron Hills to discourage his friendship with the Elves of Mirkwood, so he created this impossible task – to bring back a wreath from Lothlorien, and lay it at your feet – to once and for all prove to you that kinship between Elves and Dwares was not impossible. It was something he always had trouble convincing you of."

Thorin met Fili's accusing gaze, and knew the words to be true. If Kili returned home bearing an alliance with the Lothlorien Elves, he would indeed be impressed – that is, if Kili returned at all.

Of course, there was no need for it, now. In his meeting with Thranduil, the strained complications between Dwarves and Elves had been resolved for Thorin; and he was beginning to see the purity and simplicity that Kili had understood all along.

But Kili did not know that.

 _This is my doing_ , Thorin thought. All at once he felt a quiet rage at himself – feeling the weight of the blame on his shoulders.

"Uncle –" Fili continued urgently, "let me go after him. He could not have gone far, now."

Thorin rubbed his temples, his mood growing thunderous. "No, Fili – I cannot risk having both my heirs sent into danger. I will call for our best trackers, send out a host of the guard –"

"Let me go," Tauriel broke in.

They both turned to look at her. In the flickering firelight her face was pale, and her dark green eyes shone with distress, but there was a strong resolution set about her shoulders. "It's my fault Kili decided this – I sang to him of Lothlorien; I spoke to him of the enchanted wood, and I gave him his purpose. I will bring him back." And, in a softer voice, as if to herself she added, "and I will tell him there's no need to run anymore."

Thorin stared intently at Tauriel, as if almost seeing her for the first time.

 _So this is the Elf-maid Kili would risk everything for_ , he thought silently.

He could never bring himself to understand the race of Elves. Did they really live forever? What was it like, to outlast all the Ages? In their lofty, isolated lives, they never seemed to concern themselves with the other, mortal folk of Middle-Earth. How was it that such ageless and deathless beings could ever interest themselves with the affairs of Dwarves?

Yet here she stood; one of the Firstborn, her fate and her life so entwined with Kili's that Thorin was beginning to feel she should be given a Dwarven name, and be named Dwarf-friend. There were not many like her – not for an age, now.

He considered her words. "Your King would be hard-pressed to release you," he said.

Tauriel met Thorin's gaze briefly. "My lord," she murmured, courage ringing in her voice, "I shall convince him. You have my word."

Thorin held her gaze.  _I was wrong about her_ , he thought, though he couldn't bring himself to say his thoughts out loud.

Fili stepped forward. "Tauriel, I will go with you."

And before Thorin could voice his protest, Fili insisted, "It's better to send the both of us, Thorin. A pair will travel lighter and faster than a team of trackers. We would be able to catch up to Kili even before he reaches the borders of Mirkwood." He paused, and added, "My place is beside my brother; it always has been. I will go to him, Thorin."

Thorin recognized that tone – Fili was the gentler and more reasonable of the two brothers, but beneath his calm temper he had the same unrelenting steel in his spirit that ran in the bloodline of Durin. Once made up, there would be no changing his mind.

Thorin sighed, and looked upon the both of them. They stood, strong and unwavering in the firelight, like blades forged from the same fire. And at the back of his head, it seemed he heard an echo of Thranduil's voice:  _"I thought_ _perhaps_ _this time, peace could be bought without bloodshed. I would have Tauriel to thank for that."_

He thought he understood now what the Elvenking meant.

"Go," he relented, at last. "I will send the order to ready the horses. Bring Kili home – and be safe."

* * *

Tauriel hesitated by the doors that led to her King's apartments.

All throughout her long walk towards Thranduil's chambers she had been rehearsing her words, over and over, to convince her King to dismiss her from her Captain's duties to retrieve Kili.

She knew the irony would not be lost on him – the last time she had set off into the world to save this same Dwarf's life, she had risked banishment and high treason. She had spent her whole life by her King's side, but it was sometimes impossible to fathom what went on in his mind – she couldn't imagine that he would be amused by this request of hers.

She took a deep breath and knocked the door gently.

A pair of chamberlains swung the doors open slowly, and Tauriel stepped into the golden light of the royal apartments.

In an effort to intimidate and impress, the Dwarves of Erebor had spared no expense in furnishing the mansions for the visiting Elvenking; and even in her distracted state of mind, Tauriel could not help but stare in wonder at the lofty stone pillars carved in the likeliness of trees, sturdy bronze braziers, and sheets of fine gold mesh that fell like shimmering waterfalls from the ceiling. The wealth of Erebor was on display, and Tauriel wondered if her King was had been impressed by the finery as she was.

But she met Thranduil in a simpler, smaller inner chambers, where he sat by an open window in loose robes of moonlight silver, a plain white-gold circlet on his brow. Outside, the night was already coming to an end, and the faint grey light of the approaching dawn fell on Thranduil's face. He looked like he had been expecting her.

As Tauriel drew closer, his eyes flickered towards her, and the instant she met his cool grey gaze she realized that he already knew.

"You intend to retrieve the Dwarven prince," Thranduil said quietly, before Tauriel could even announce herself. "He has somehow stolen away into the night – seeing Legolas' freedom in self-exile had given him ideas, no doubt."

"Yes." It was not surprising to Tauriel that he already knew. The long years had given Thranduil a rare gift of seeing past the grey fog-curtain of time, and sometimes he could foresee things no one else could.

It saved her the trouble of explaining herself, but all her carefully-constructed arguments seemed empty, now. Tauriel hesitated. "If it does not displease you, my lord, I intend to go after him."

"And when you return," he said, "what then?"

Tauriel looked up at him, eyes wide. "My lord?" It was a strange question, even from him. "Of course, I intend to return to Erebor with the Prince, and go back to my duties as Captain and emissary."

Thranduil smiled slightly. "Circumstances lead us away from our intentions, at times," he murmured, as if he knew something she did not. Tauriel looked to her King. She noticed that on the table beside him was a small, carved wooden box of dark red cherry-wood. The lid was closed, and Thranduil placed a hand upon it absent-mindedly as he spoke to her.

"Tauriel," he asked suddenly, "Do you know the story of Finrod Felagund, of the First Age?"

Another strange question. She did not yet understand where Thranduil was going with this, but she followed through. "Yes," she replied hesitantly. "Lord Finrod was of the ancient and noble Houses of the Noldor. He had come from across the western seas, and formed great friendships with the Dwarves of old, and even adopted their name for him, ' _Felagund_ ' as his title."

Thranduil nodded, appearing pleased with the answer. "Such was their friendship," he said, "that the Dwarves of the Ered Luin gifted him with a necklace of rare jewels, the finest creation east of the Sundering Seas. The necklace was named Nauglamir, and it was the heirloom of the House of Finrod."

At this, Thranduil cast a thoughtful glance at Tauriel, but seemed to look past her. "Dwarves are not normally generous with their gifts, Tauriel, especially to Eldar – but in the rare occasions that they do bear us gifts, they are such treasures of unsurpassed craft and beauty; for Dwarves take pride in their labours above all else. They become objects of great legend.

"When the Dwarven prince gifted you with your  _mithril_  dagger," he continued quietly, "I was not sure at first where the event would lead. It's as if a stone had been cast into a dark pool, and the ripples that stir the calmness travel to far edges I cannot see. I only feel that you are destined for things greater and further than my knowing."

Tauriel was silent. Her fingers brushed lightly at the sheathed dagger strapped to her side as she reflected her King's words. Outside, the world began to awaken – faraway birdsong mingled with distant sounds of the Mountain coming to life after the long night.

"I will release you, on one condition." Thranduil said, after a while. Slowly, he rose from his chair. And as he stood, he carried the dark wooden box with him. He placed it in Tauriel's hands.

Mystified, she took the box from his hands and slowly opened the lid. And inside, sitting upon a bed of velvet, was a fine chain of netted silver. Woven into it were shimmering white gems.

Tauriel gazed upon the necklace in wonder. They were beautiful; the finest jewels she had ever seen – they seemed to sing, with the fine white fire-voices of the stars, and throw their own delicate shimmer into the pale light of dawn.

_The White Gems of Lasgalen._

"In a different time," Thranduil told her, in a faraway voice, "These gems meant something to me. They are heirlooms, and were passed down to my father from his father before him. And as I heard the skill and craft of Erebor grew before the coming of the dragon, I sent the raw gems to them, to fashion into fine jewellery by their master jewel-smiths."

He paused, his grey eyes flickering as if he were lost in memory. "When Thorin returned the gems to me, and at long last I held them in my hands, I realized at once that their purpose had long been lost to me ... in a dark night of smoke and fire." At this, he lasped into another long silence, gazing upon the gems and seeming to be in deep thought.

At length he spoke again. "But I know their purpose, now. Take the gems with you, Tauriel – they were meant to be yours. This is my condition."

Tauriel was speechless. She looked again at the necklace – each gem was like a star by itself, singing its own unique tune, but woven together they sang in a delicate, twinkling chorus.

She was no princess, or lady of the high Houses of the Eldar. "My King, this is too fine a gift for one of my standing," she protested. "I would take any other token but this."

Thranduil shook his head. "Tauriel – do not see this as a token from your King," he said. "I have raised you since you were a child; I have seen you grow alongside my own son. I have only wished the best for you. Am I not allowed to spoil you once in a while?"

Tauriel glanced up towards him, and saw a slight smile ghost his lips and a rare light in his eyes. She found she had no other words to say; her heart swelled with a great sadness and she felt warm tears began to prick at the corners of her eyes. She turned aside to brush them away. "Thank you, my lord," she breathed, closing the box and holding it to her chest. "But … what am I to do with it?"

"The road ahead is full of uncertainties. I'm sure you'll find use for it," Thranduil said airily, as if he did not care for the answer. He moved towards the window again. Again, his words explained nothing. Tauriel was used to his riddles and bare hinting at things only he knew that others did not; but this time, she wished dearly for a clear explanation.

"Go now, to your Dwarven prince," Thranduil said quietly, dismissing her. The sun began to climb above the eastern hills, staining the world in pale shades of gold. "And be safe."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise if my previous chapter had been too confusing – a few readers wondered why Kili would go to Lothlorien, and I'm really sorry if I wasn't clearer. I hope this chapter manages to explain things, and if not, please do leave a comment and let me know~ ^^;
> 
> Thranduil's gift to Tauriel of the necklace of White Gems will also play a significant part in future chapters, I promise!


	15. 11

The wall of black ironwood trees stretched so far to the North and to the South, it seemed to carry on into forever. The air was hushed and eerily quiet; the silence broken only by the whisper of a rain-scented breeze rustling through the trees.

Kili stared at the dark line of trees before him, hesitating. He was now at the easternmost border of the Mirkwood, where the rolling grass-plains of the Wilderland met the edge of the forest. Far beyond its westernmost borders, nestled in the shadows of the Misty Mountains, would be the hidden golden wood of Lothlorien.

No Dwarf had ever set foot in that guarded Elven stronghold in an Age. Its entrances were closed, and its roads guarded from those who weren't friendly to Elves – it had become a whispered rumour, almost a fairytale to tell little Dwarflings by the fire.

But Kili knew it existed – the brightness of Tauriel's song had brought him underneath its lofty golden leaves and silver boughs, and it had come to life in his mind. By meeting with those elusive, ancient Grey Elves, who hid away behind their old magic and secrecy, Kili was sure he could prove to his Uncle that the great friendships between Elf and Dwarf from ages long past could be rekindled.

 _But I'll need to get there first,_ Kili thought, as he stared up at the whispering leaves, his brows lightly furrowed.

Overhead, the early morning sky was an endless silver mirror, lit with the overcast glare of oncoming rain, and thunder rolled ominously in the distance. Kili was glad for the approaching storm – he knew they would have found his letters by now, and Thorin would not be very amused by this rash decision of his. The rain would wash away his tracks and hinder any guard that had been sent in pursuit, and he hoped to lose them in the forest.

But for one moment, he hesitated. He turned and threw one last, lingering look at the silhouette of the Lonely Mountain in the distance, where it was just a smudge of grey under a roof of swiftly-gathering stormclouds.

He was struck by a sudden pang of loneliness. He wished, with a deep aching in his heart, that his brother had come along with him.

But as streaks of lightning silently bloomed in the darkening horizon, Kili shook his head and steeled himself – _no,_ this mission was his and his alone. If there was one thing he had to set right, it was _this_.

He placed a hand reassuringly on the bow strapped across his chest. And, without another backward glance, he strode forward into the gloom of the forest.

* * *

"Look – _over there!_ "

Tauriel turned to where Fili was pointing – through the thick rain curtain, a riderless pony came trotting up to them, its saddle and reins still harnessed.

Fili caught its reins. "It's a pony from Erebor," he said, eyes bright with worry. "It's Kili's – he must have set it loose, just before entering the Mirkwood."

They both looked towards the forest, a black line of trees that spanned the horizon like a deep cut between the sky and soil. Both of them were soaked through, and they had long since lost trace of Kili's tracks in the rain.

"He cannot be far now," Tauriel said hopefully, over the roar of the rainstorm. "We can't give up. Let's keep moving."

Fili searched her eyes silently. But he gave a small nod, and, releasing the pony, they made their way quickly towards the dark edge of the Mirkwood.

* * *

Kili stood upon the rocky banks of the roaring Forest River.

The furious black waters were swollen with rainwater, and as he gazed on them a memory of tumbling through the rapids in a barrel flashed briefly in his mind.

The map in his hands – snatched it hastily from Erebor's old library – clearly stated that the most straightforward way across the Mirkwood was the Forest Road. However, as Thorin and his company had discovered on their fateful quest, it was long-swallowed up by time and tangled tree roots, and plagued with ravenous spiders. The Mirkwood – once known as Greenwood the Great – was now dangerous and decaying, and no longer friendly to travelers.

It wasn't the path he was planning to take.

The old Forest River cut straight through the forest, from east to west. If he followed the flow of the river, he would be able to cross through the Mirkwood and emerge from its northernmost tip, and from there it was a long southward journey, keeping the Misty Mountains on his right, before he would reach Lothlorien.

The sound of flowing water was a steady, muted gush above the sound of rain. Kili made his way upriver, careful not to lose his footing on the slippery, rain-slick rocks that ran along the edge of the river.

His walk was long and silent – above, the storm raged on steadily, and the air was filled only with the deafening sound of rain and the constant roar of the river. Walking in the grey solitude and cheerless silence, it became easy for his mind to wander. And he found his thoughts drifting to his last moments with Tauriel, just the night before.

He thought of her last words to him, as they lay together under the stars: _"_ _You terrify me, too, Kili –"_ she had said, in a soft sad whisper, _"I fear a time when you would leave me; called away to the distant shores beyond this world where I cannot follow."_

Her words dwelled at the back of his mind and he did not pay heed to them, at first – but now they came back to him, ringing and burning with clarity.

" _I am scared of the long years without you. I feel the dread of it, deep in my heart, so strong it chills me. Sometimes it makes me wish we never met."_

A slow doubt seeped into his mind, cold and cruel.

 _I cannot bring her happiness,_ he thought suddenly. _I would leave her, and she will have to endure the all ages alone_ _._

It felt as if his heart had been poisoned. His steps began to slow.

But just then, he was drawn out from his thoughts by a curious sound – a quiet, muted rumbling coming from the distance. It sounded like thunder, but it was constant, and growing ever closer.

It was then he saw it – a massive overflow of storm-fuelled rapids, gushing furiously towards him.

There was no time to react – he'd barely cried out in panic and lunged for a handhold before the wall of water hit him – and suddenly he was swept off his feet, tumbling through the churning rapids of the river, spinning through the undercurrents.

The world suddenly became nothing but darkness and water. Kili had the breath knocked from his chest, and in urgency, he unslung his heavy pack of supplies and weapons and struggled to the surface, lungs burning with need for air.

Finally, he broke through, gasping in grateful lungfuls of breath. Desperately, he struggled to make his way to the riverbank.

But the waters were ruthlessly strong. He was pulled once again underwater by the cruel currents, deeper into the belly of the river. And suddenly, there was a sickening _BAM!_ as his head knocked sharply against stone – and his mind was sent reeling.

Kili felt his courage begin to dim; his strength failing.

Through a haze of water and sky, time seemed to slow, stretching seconds into infinity. And he thought of Tauriel – he pictured her as when he first saw her, a fine lightning streak of fire-red and flashing steel through the gaps in the trees, coming to save him. And as he drifted with the currents, her name left his lips in a breathless whisper –

" _Tauriel –_ "

A cold sleepiness, black and heavy, dragged him down as darkness closed in. And faint, strange white lights – like a lanterns in the midst of a fog, danced ghostlike before him.

He watched them curiously, as if in a drunken stupor, and reached a hand to touch them. As his fingers brushed against their frostlike surface, they shattered against his touch, and suddenly the darkness was filled with the light of a thousand tiny, shimmering shards –

_Stars._

It was night sky full of stars. And standing beneath it – a lost, solitary figure, bright against the infinite darkness – was Tauriel.

She was not as he remembered her – she was dressed not in her guard's attire, but in flowing robes of the lightest blue gossamer, embroidered in threads of glittering silver-silk and trimmed with rich furs. Upon her red hair was a circlet of silver-steel, as though she were a Queen.

And resting upon her throat was a necklace of fine white gems, linked in silver. The gems seemed familiar – they shone fire-white, fierce and delicate, like stars themselves snatched out of the sky.

He had never seen her look so beautiful, or so sad.

She was singing. Her voice was soft and tremulous, and her words were Sindarin. Though the song itself was sweet, it was strange and eerie in Kili's ears, and accented with a deep mourning. It chilled him to the bone as he listened.

He tried to reach out to her; struggled to call her name. And she turned, her eyes meeting his for the first time. They glittered with a strange light.

"Kili," she said sadly, her voice exquisite with pain, "Why must you go, to where I cannot follow?"

And it was as if a frost had taken Kili's heart. Her words struck him like lightning, numbing and violent, and as he cried out in shock he burst into wakefulness – and suddenly he was on his back, staring up into shadowed forest branches, and feeling cold raindrops sprinkle his face.

He heard a frantic, high-pitched muttering in his ears –

" _Oh my, oh my – looks like a Dwarf, this one, a little Dwarf of Erebor, poor thing –"_

The voice was familiar – a chattering pitch that sounded like mice racing through autumn leaves. Kili struggled to hold onto consciousness, but the claws of sleep pulled at him and dragged him ruthlessly down, and in exhaustion he gave in.

" _What a shame, Sebastian – we must help him, we must! Gently now, don't hurt him –"_

And as the blackness closed in, Kili heard and felt and saw nothing.


	16. 11-5

The rain continued in unstoppable waves. In the dim rainlight, all the world seemed to fall into muted shades of grey, and the steady beat of the rain and distant rolls of thunder drowned out all other sound. The air was musty and smelt of wet earth.

"It's no use," Tauriel shouted to Fili, over the roar of rain, as they rode closer towards the line of trees that was the border of the Mirkwood. "We cannot go any further. We need to find cover."

At the boundary of the Mirkwood, they turned their horse loose to find its way back to the Mountain, and found shelter beneath an outcropping of rocks. Gnarled tangles of ancient roots formed a sort of roof over their heads, and in the gloom the sound of rain was distant and hushed.

Tauriel was combing wet tangles out of her hair, when she absent-mindedly glanced towards Fili. He was staring into distant space out into the forest, his expression distracted and a little lost. He had not spoken much since they set off from the Mountain, and only now she noticed the crease in his forehead, and how pale his rain-stained face looked even in the faded light.

"Fili," she asked quietly, "what's the matter? Are you alright?"

He met her gaze with an anxious shine in his eyes, and sighed, releasing a noticeable tension in his shoulders. "I … I promised I would protect him," he said, in a tired voice. "I promised our Mother I would keep him safe. We've been together nearly our whole lives, my brother and I. We are almost never separated, and when we are, it's never for long."

Tauriel sat in silence, listening.

"I do not know how it is among Elves," Fili continued, "but among the Khazad the tie of brotherhood is so strong, it's almost unbreakable. We are quarried from the same stone, forged from the same ore, as we say. And if anything happens to Kili …." here Fili stopped abruptly, his voice strained, and he sighed again, rubbing his face slowly.

Tauriel placed a hand on his shoulder. "Fili," she said quietly, "We _will_ get your brother back. He will be safe."

Fili looked up to her in equal parts of despair and hope, and in a small voice, he asked, "Can you really promise me that, Tauriel?"

Tauriel knew she couldn't. The long centuries had brought with her a kind of wisdom, and she knew nothing was ever for certain.

But she met his gaze steadily, and in a soft voice, she told him: "That night, in Esgaroth, when your brother lay close to dying from the poison of the Morghul arrow … I did not tell you, how terrified I was then; how close I came to despair when I thought I was going to lose him. My knowledge of herblore is not as deep as the Elves of Rivendell – I was trained in the art of sword and bow, and not in healing; and they say only Lord Elrond has the knowledge and the power to stave the poison of Morghul steel.

"Yet, somehow that night, against all odds, your brother pulled through. The poison cleared and his fever broke, all in one night. He is not aware of it, Fili – but there is something extraordinary and rare about your brother. It's as if he carries all the light of the world in his heart …" here her voice trailed off, and her gaze became distant as she struggled for the right words to say. She did not share Kili's skill with words; and all the sayings in Sindarin and Westron speech seemed too empty; too plain to describe what she saw in Kili – his bravery, his kindness, his strength.

But then she shook her head. "He gives me courage," she said. "And you Dwarves have surprised me, time and time again, with your hardiness in the face of great danger. Have faith in him, Fili."

A faint smile ghosted Fili's face, and he lapsed into silence. The rain continued to pour on, against muted cracks and rumbles of thunder.

"I always thought Elves were far too strange to be understood," Fili said after a while, a small laugh in his voice. "In our youth, my brother and I would sometimes see processions of them along the borders of the Ered Luin, as they made their way to their white harbours along the western shore. They seemed so distant. Like they were wraiths from another world."

Here, he turned to look again at Tauriel, and his gaze was pensive. "But you're not all like that – at least, not you and Legolas," he said. "I'm beginning to see what Kili knew all along – that we walk under the same skies, and our hearts yearn for the same peace. We are not so different after all." Fili paused, and his brow creased thoughtfully. "You're all just … really, _really_ tall."

At this, Tauriel burst out laughing. And soon Fili joined her in laughter; and even in the dark and the damp of the Mirkwood, under the rainy gloom, it seemed as if they sat in a merry firelit tavern, surrounded by the light and laughter of familiar faces. Their troubles seemed gone, even for the briefest moment.

It was Tauriel's turn to throw a thoughtful glance towards Fili. She took a breath, paused, and said gravely: "Fili, there is something I need to tell you."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Kili asked me to go with him," Tauriel admitted, guilt lacing her words. "Twice, he has invited me to join him; once was by the shores of the Long Lake, after Smaug was slain. And the second was last night, on the terraces of Erebor, as we lay under the stars. Twice I refused him … and twice I've regretted it," she said, with a hollow smile. "I had promised I would stand with him, if the time came, yet … yet I failed him. I wonder if or fates could be changed, if I had decided differently."

Fili reflected on her words, then shrugged. He reached into his tunic and drew out a piece of parchment, dampened by the rain.

"Kili gave me a letter, too," he said. "And he said he would have asked me to go with him … but my presence was more needed in Erebor."

He handed the letter to Tauriel and she unfolded it. The writing was all in Dwarvish – she couldn't read a word.

"What else did he say?" she asked, handing the letter back.

Fili looked at Tauriel, seeming to weigh over several different replies, before simply saying, "He made it very clear that he loves you."

A scarlet blush rose to Tauriel's face. "O- _oh_ ," she murmured quietly. She looked away, trying her best to hide the flutter of sheer delight and embarrassment this declaration brought her, as a memory of Kili's dark eyes reflecting starlight and his soft whispering voice sparked in her mind. _"_ _Did I ever tell you, how you terrified me, the first time I saw you?"_ Her heart ached with wanting to see him again.

Fili tucked the letter back into his tunic. "I would have followed Kili, too, if he had asked me … or maybe I would have tried to convince him to stay. But who's to say how things could have turned out," he said, and shook his head. "Right now, we just have to make do with what choices we've made, with what little time we have."

She was struck suddenly by the wisdom in his words. In a brief instant, it seemed as if she was no longer looking upon a young prince from under the Mountain, but a venerable Dwarf-lord of old.

In admiration, Tauriel looked at him and said quietly, "You would make a fine King Under the Mountain, Fili."

And Fili laughed, a light colour rising to his face. "That's not the first time I've heard that," he admitted.

* * *

Several moments later, the rain began to gently lessen. It was a mere soft whisper of a drizzle now; and shafts of sunlight began to peek through the retreating clouds. The air smelt fresh and clean. Tauriel and Fili emerged from their shelter and, after a brief stretch, swiftly resumed their tracking. They set off into gloom, leaving the sunlight far behind them.

They were deep in the twilit depths of the wood when Fili heard Tauriel call out, "Over here!"

Fili darted to where she was. The closer he came to her, the more aware he became of the sound of deep, rushing water – a nearby river. A brief memory of tumbling down river rapids in a barrel flashed through his mind.

"What is it?" he asked, as he stood beside where Tauriel knelt down by the banks of a dark and rain-swollen river.

Tauriel did not reply – but he noticed, gripped tightly in her hands, a leather belt from a Dwarven knapsack. The leather was finely-crafted, with intertwining royal motifs, wrought in pure silver – it was Kili's.

In surge of white-hot panic, Fili rushed to the edge of the river, his eyes scanning the churning waters rapidly. "Kili!" he called desperately, all the dread in his heart conjuring up images of his brother long-drowned, and pale in death.

"Fili," Tauriel murmured, seeming to read his mind. "He's not here. But there's another set of tracks."

Fili watched as Tauriel scanned the riverbank, and occasionally crouch down, touching the damp earth and murmuring under her breath in Sindarin.

"The rain has washed most of them away, but I feel as if Kili was carried away from here."

Fili's eyes widened in alarm. "Spiders?"

"Not spiders." Tauriel stood, and gazed determinedly into the darkness of the forest. "It's a cart – _no_ , a sled, drawn by quick-footed hares. They are a rare breed; some say they run faster than arrows fly." She turned to look at him. "We'll need to travel fast if we were to catch up to them, Fili."

Fili knew what she spoke about – he'd seen a sled drawn by a team of hares before, in what seemed a lifetime ago. It was when they first encountered Gandalf's odd wizard friend, Radagast.

"Kili is with the Brown Wizard, then?"

"I suspect so," Tauriel said, her voice rising with hope. She took off into a run. "They would have gone straight back to Rhosgobel," she called, beckoning for Fili to follow. "Quickly, before we lose the trail – let us go, Fili!"


	17. 12

Kili awoke to the smell of boiling herbs and steam, and the faint sound of birdsong in cool, clear evening air.

The glare of sunlight was blinding in his eyes, but as the brightness slowly cleared, he found himself lying on his back, looking up at a roof of thatch and gnarled, twisting tree branches. Sprigs of dried herbs and little blown-glass baubles hung from above, and they chimed softly as they swayed lazily in the breeze.

He tried to sit up – and all at once he felt his body aching with strained muscle, and his head throbbed with pain. He let out a sharp groan.

Suddenly, a small figure rushed to his side – a short man dressed in threadbare brown robes of wool and faded silk, which must have looked grand a long time ago. His manner and appearance made him look like he was a tiny forest creature – a rabbit or a sparrow, perhaps, and Kili recognized him immediately: This was Radagast, one of Gandalf's Wizard friends. He was holding an earthenware cup, filled with what seemed to be steaming tea.

"Ah, you're awake," Radagast said in his chattering mouselike voice. "Here, drink this – it will make you feel better," he said, holding the cup out towards Kili.

Kili accepted it in wordless bewilderment, and sipped slowly at the tea. It tasted smoky, with a nutty bitterness, but it filled him with warmth, and he could already feel the ache in his muscles begin to fade and his head begin to clear.

"Where am I?" Kili asked cautiously, as he regained his bearings.

"You're at Rhosgobel, by the Old Forest Road, on the southern borders of Mirkwood," Radagast announced, with a proud little bow. "Welcome to my humble abode."

Kili glanced around the little house – it was small; a single circular room that looked like it had been carved out of the inside of a great tree. The floor was part cracked tile, part bare sandy earth, and rough pieces of pottery and blown glass vessels lay everywhere, speckled unevenly with glaze. There was a merry fire burning in the hearth, over which an iron kettle was boiling steadily.

"You seemed to have hit your head quite hard," Radagast said, "but Dwarves are much hardier creatures than most, hmm? I trust you will heal up splendidly." And he cheerfully hummed to himself as be began to potter about the house.

The golden sunlight streaming through the windows showed that it seemed to be late evening, heading into sunset – and, realizing this, Kili was seized by a moment of panic. "H-how long have I been here?" he asked in alarm, imagining, with dread, that he had been unconscious for days, and whatever royal guard sent from Erebor would come knocking at the door at any moment.

Radagast scrunched up his face and appeared to be in deep thought for a few minutes, before shrugging and said, "Oh, I found you this morning by the banks of the forest river," he answered, as if suddenly remembering it. "Quite lucky I found you – yes, quite lucky indeed! I don't usually go by those paths, but I was out gathering mushrooms, you see, and then it began to rain, and the river flooded its banks –"

_This morning_ , Kili thought. _So it's only been a few hours since I entered the forest. If I continue from here, I could probably make it to the western borders of the woods by the next morning, or the next –_

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud, demanding grumble from his stomach.

Radagast looked startled by the sound for a moment, before letting out a small chuckle and saying, "I suppose it's time for an early supper now, hmm?"

Kili nodded sheepishly; in his urgency, he'd hardly remembered to eat, and skipping breakfast and lunch was starting to take its toll.

Supper was hearty soup and steamed wild potatoes seasoned with herbs, which Kili devoured gratefully. Halfway through his meal and with a mouth full of food, Kili murmured, "Thank you, Master Wizard."

Radagast smiled and nodded, but then stopped abruptly as if he just remembered something important. "Oh yes!" he said, eyes growing wide. "You're one of Thorin's boys, yes? I should probably make arrangements to return you to Erebor soon, hmm? Before the sun goes down?"

Kili swallowed his food a bit too fast and began to choke. After a fit of coughing, he shook his head violently and cried, "No, no, please! I'm trying to get _away_ from Erebor!"

This caused Radagast to look even more alarmed, and he stood suddenly. "Stars above!" he exclaimed in panic, "has another dragon invaded the Mountain? Are you fleeing to safety? Shall I rally the Eagles, and call for Beorn and the beasts of the forest –"

It took a while for Kili to calm the wizard down, and explain that _no_ , Erebor was in no danger from being invaded by dragons or Orcs or Wargs. Slowly, he began to explain what he was doing so far from home and out in the middle of the Mirkwood – he spoke of his _mithril_ gift to Tauriel; of his Uncle's command to send him to the Iron Hills.

But in telling his story, he stopped abruptly – memories of the day's events stirred at the back of his head, and his mind had drifted back to a dark memory; he saw, once again, a phantom vision of when he fell into the waters of the forest river: a dark dream of a night sky full of stars, beneath which an Elven girl sang to herself, all alone.

" _Why must you go, to where I cannot follow?"_ Tauriel's words echoed from the depths of his memory, and they struck him, cold as steel. And Kili wished he hadn't remembered it. His heart grew heavy, and all at once his words dried up in his throat.

Radagast inclined his head politely. "Are you alright, lad?" he asked.

Kili did not speak for awhile. He turned his gaze out at the sunlight streaming through the window, but didn't seem to see anything.

Eventually he spoke. "At the end of it all, after I got back, I … I had thought of asking for Tauriel's hand in marriage," he said softly, sadly, his words quiet as if they came from a deep, painful place, far away. "I would bring back a betrothal wreath from the Golden Wood, a woven crown, to lay upon her head. And finally we would be wed.

"I had thought I could bring her happiness." He imagined Tauriel – her tenderness and her grace, the secret way she'd smile at him in a halo of firelight; the way her eyes glittered just before they kissed. To his surprise, tears sprang to his eyes and his words became choked. He passed a hand over his face so the Wizard would not see his tears. "But I was wrong. How could I, when all I can offer her is pain?"

Kili bowed his head, feeling the world grow cold around him. Outside, the waning sunlight seemed so far away. Behind his closed eyes, he once again saw an empty world beneath dying stars, and Tauriel alone in her grief. _I would leave her there, if things are going to continue as they are._

_I cannot do that to her._

Kili felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Looking up, he saw the Wizard. Though Radagast appeared scatter-brained and strange at first, he had a kind, patient, listening look about him – like the tranquil shade of a tree in summer. In a way, he was almost like Gandalf, the wholesome way he inspired trust in others.

"Laddie," Radagast said with a small smile, "let me introduce you to my friend Sebastian."

He lifted the cover off a small, unassuming eathernware bowl on the table, and, peering inside, Kili was surprised to see a tiny hedgehog sleeping soundly within. It looked perfectly content; its nose and paws twitching slightly as it breathed in and out in deep, peaceful slumber.

"Sebastian has been my friend for … oh, many years now," Radagast said, distractedly counting on his fingers as if he couldn't remember how many years, exactly. "He is very dear to me, and I would be terribly afraid to lose him. We Wizards, you see, live for a very, _very_ long time. And well … hedgehogs, quite frankly, do not."

He replaced the lid of the pot gently, as not to wake his sleeping companion. "I have had friends before him who have gone forth to realms only Ilúvatar knows of. Yes, the time of parting must come. I know this, and I dread it ... yet, do I regret our moments of friendship? Not for a moment.

"The Ages will come and go, great kingdoms of the Free Peoples will rise and fall and the trees will grow taller and greater around us; but I will always remember the little hedgehog whom would help me sniff out the best mushrooms on rainy mornings, and remind me where I kept my pipe whenever I misplaced it."

Radagast smiled warmly. "There are things you leave behind when you are gone, yes. But pain and suffering are not the only legacies you leave, little Dwarf … I'm sure your dagger will keep your lady well protected, long after you are called to the Hither Shores, when you are no longer at her side to protect her."

Kili was drawn into a long and thoughtful silence. At that moment, the kettle over the fire began to bubble and froth over urgently, and steam hissed out in the air as hot water spilled out onto the fire below.

Radagast leapt up and gingerly took the kettle off the fire, and began to potter about, making cups of tea while humming quietly to himself.

"Do you take honey with your tea?" he asked, and all traces of the wise, sagelike Wizard he was just a few minutes ago dwindling away. Kili nodded, still reflecting on Radagast's words.

After a quiet moment, Radagast spoke again. "Would you go now still, to Lothlorien?"

Kili looked up to meet the Wizard's calm, twinkling eyes. Though dread still lay heavy at the back of his mind, Kili was loath to abandon a task, once he set out on it. The Wizard's words had kindled a new fire in his heart. "Yes," he said slowly, "it is something I must do. My Uncle still needs to understand that kinship between Elves and Dwarves isn't something to be feared – past mistakes cannot be repeated."

"Then there's not a moment to lose!" Radagast announced, with enthusiasm. He patted his robes, as if looking for something, but then paused and reached under his hat and drew out a strange carved wooden token, inscribed with a flowery sigil.

"Take this to the Halls of Beorn," he said, handing the carved token to Kili. "He will give you food, shelter, and possibly a mount to take you to the borders of Lothlorien, if he is feeling generous. He knows I would have sent you."

Kili took the token, looking up at Radagast in stunned gratitude. "Thank you," he murmured. "But … why are you doing this for me, Master Wizard?"

Radagast chuckled. "You know," he said, "I'm not as famous a Wizard as Gandalf, or indeed Saruman the White, greatest of our Order. The Free Peoples have always placed greater value on their counsel, and their work is so much more important than mine. But I do what I can, when I can, laddie. Perhaps … perhaps this will be my legacy."

* * *

It was a few moments later, in the light of a golden evening fading into dusk, that Kili stood perched on Radagast's rabbit-sled, with a dozen swift-footed hares harnessed to it. They looked lively and ready to go. On Kili's back was a small pack of new supplies; and around his neck hung Radagast's wooden token.

"Be sure to mind your manners around Beorn," Radagast called out. "He's quite particular about those things, you see. Oh, and the rabbits know their way home! You can send them back when you reach the borders of Beorn's fields."

Kili looked at the gentle, unassuming Brown Wizard before him, in his faded brown robes and tattered hat. He did not have Gandalf's commanding authority or benevolent grandeur, but there seemed more to Radagast than he appeared. Kili smiled, a bit wistfully, not knowing how he was ever going to repay this kindness.

"I don't know who this Saruman is," Kili admitted, "but I think you're just as great and important a Wizard as Gandalf will ever be, Master Radagast!" And with that, he urged the rabbits onwards, and they sped off into the depths of the forest.

Radagast watched him disappear into the distance, beaming and chuckling softly to himself. "A Dwarf and an Elf, eh?" he muttered, gazing up at the dappled evening light streaming through the trees. "What would my Lady Yavanna and her Lord husband say to that, I wonder?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Radagast's "Lady Yavanna" was one of the great Valar, the gods and goddesses who watch over Arda. Yavanna was the Vala who oversees the trees, forests, and all things that grow, and she was the one who sent Radagast to Middle-Earth to help the Free Peoples in their struggles against Sauron. Aulë is her husband, the Vala of craftmanship and metalwork, and whom created the race of Dwarves.
> 
> I've always thought that Tauriel had a closer affinity to Yavanna, with her name 'Tauriel' meaning 'daughter of the forests'. It seems fitting that Yavanna and Aulë, being spouses, would have creations who would eventually find love with each other – but I don't think they would have anticipated it happening, either. ;)


End file.
